


The Savior King, The Master Tactician and the Queen of Liberation

by ReynaAtTheEnd



Series: Verdant Moon, Azure Winds [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Cindered Shadows DLC Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Novelization, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War, communication saves lives, mix of golden deer and blue lions plotlines, no beta we die like men, other pairings to be decided - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 63
Words: 467,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReynaAtTheEnd/pseuds/ReynaAtTheEnd
Summary: Fate has a way of playing tricks on people even as it brings them together. Some of Foldan's legends say that when calamity comes, the goddess binds the souls of champions to ensure they fight at each other's side, onward to victory. Less spiritually-inclined individuals say that conflict makes friends, allies and more out of strange bedfellows.Or, in which Dimitri punches out a racist and history is changed as a result. A merging of the Blue Lions and Golden Deer storylines.





	1. Chapter 1

If someone had told Dimitri just after he met Claude von Reigan for the first time that he would knock a man's teeth out for insulting him, he would have given them a strange look. 

It wasn't that he disliked the other man – he just found him incredibly exasperating. Claude was capable, intelligent and charismatic; all traits worth admiring; however, he went out of his way to tease and bedevil people, rarely acting like the duke he would become in a few years at best. That in and of itself wouldn't be too off-putting – Dimitri was friends with Sylvain, after all – if it weren't for the way he smiled.

For all that Claude joked, teased and generally acted casual, his eyes...were always cold. When he smiled, bright and friendly, those green orbs were remote and unreadable. Dimitri wasn't a man easily unnerved after what the things he'd experienced...but it _did _unnerve him, that Claude could act so warm without feeling a thing. It was a carefully practiced act; had to be, seeing how many people fell for it and believed he was nothing but a troublemaker. If seeing the life leave people's eyes hadn't taught Dimitri to look more closely at them, he might have been fooled as well.

People – even Edelgard, brilliant and people-savvy as she was – dismissed the young duke for the person he pretended to be. Dimitri, meanwhile, feared that Claude was a good deal more dangerous than he appeared. If he could smile so warmly while being so cold inside...how could he trust anything the other man said? If he could feign friendship easily, without it meaning anything, didn't that mean he could discard his 'friends' without a care the moment it was expedient?

So perhaps Dimitri had been more aloof toward his fellow house leader than he should have been. Part of the reason he was at the academy was to foster good relations with his fellow future rulers, after all; he was hardly achieving that by being overly critical of the other man in the name of hiding his unease.

Fate, however, as it so often did, was playing a trick on him. Dimitri wasn't sure what else to call a random happenstance that exposed him to Claude's best kept secret.

* * *

Dimitri had been headed to the training grounds when he heard the shouting. Someone was in a hideous temper, screaming abuse at another, and that never heralded anything good.

Alarmed, he turned and hurried back the way he came and into one of the monastery's many alleys, where a disturbing scene lay out before him. Cyril – a young man he'd seen a few times before in the Archbishop's company – was sprawled out a few feet away from a reedy man in church armor, a number of weapons scattered across the ground around him. Claude was standing a few feet back, a resigned look on his face. “-could've killed me, you little brat!” The soldier was spitting, hands clenched into fists.

“Hardly,” Claude countered, taking a step forward and helping Cyril to his feet. The poor boy looked incredibly rattled; he didn't quite cower behind the older student, but he visibly backed away from the soldier, shoulders hunched. “He doesn't have the strength to do that by accident. Besides, you're in full plate armor. At worst you would've had to knock out a dent.”

“Did I ask you, you Almyran mutt?” The soldier spat.

Claude's demeanor changed instantly, greater than anything Dimitri had seen before. He went completely rigid, one hand sliding down to his belt and shifting back into a defensive stance. Those cold green eyes momentarily flared with alarm...and what almost looked like panic. “Geez,” He complained, his voice amazingly calm, “get a bit of a tan and everyone assumes you're from the outside world. It really doesn't take much, does it?” Somehow the prince didn't think he was talking about his skin color.

“Don't be coy, it's degrading.” The soldier sneered, puffing himself up so he seemed taller. “Even if I couldn't _smell _it on you, I've fought at Fodlan's throat. I could recognize your kind a mile away. How humiliating for the duke, for his only heir to be baseborn _half breed._”

Cyril twisted and stared up at Claude, who seemed unmoved. “You know, considering you're a man of proper breeding,” He said flippantly, “It's odd _I'm_ not the one screaming bloody murder at a kid for bumping into me around a blind corner.”

“You have no right,” The soldier took a menacing step forward. “Neither of you. You have no right to disgrace the monastery with your presence.”

“_Enough!_”

It took Dimitri a moment, when all three spun around to face him, to realize he in fact had spoken. He'd rather felt like he was in a dream – or maybe a memory. How many times had he needed to confront a soldier speaking to Dedue in this very manner? How often, since the man had entered his house, had he needed to sternly order his servants to stop whispering behind his back, chew out soldiers for 'accidentally' causing an injury during training? It didn't matter that he'd never set foot in Almyra; he couldn't let this pass by without speaking up.

“You forget yourself,” He told the soldier, intentionally switching to the tones he used when speaking to his people. Even though he'd only done so a handful of times, Rodrigue had praised his oratory power. “The Archbishop invited Cyril and Claude von Riegan into these halls. No one has more authority under the goddess than her! It is _you _who has no right – not to harass them, and certainly not to abuse Cyril over an honest mistake, the likes of which happens every day in this busy area!”

“The Riegan bastard prays to foreign gods!” The soldier burst out, disbelief and anger warring in his voice. “He's spat on her kindness! It's in his blood. No good will come from having him here. He is -”

“-a man!” Dimitri cut him off ruthlessly, pitching his voice so it drowned out whatever bile was meant to follow. “Claude is a man no different from you, and he is no bastard – not under law, and I doubt he is one in spirit either. His mother returned with him to her place of birth, and that I believe speaks for itself. You owe him an apology, and Cyril too, and I suggest you start to consider what you will say to the Archbishop after I speak of this incident with her!”

“Dimitri...” Claude's voice trailed off. Dimitri looked over the man's shoulder to see the archer staring wide eyed at him. His expression, while still largely unreadable, seemed stunned.

“Aplogize?! To the son of a whore?! You would have-”

The sensation of his temper snapping was a palpable thing; Dimitri felt rather than saw his fist slam into the man's jaw. The force of the impact sent several teeth flying through the air; the man himself flew several feet back into the wall and dropped like a stone to the ground, out like a light. For a moment Dimitri worried that he might have killed him; fortunately, movement in the soldier's chest put that to rest. Dimitri stared at the result of his work for a moment, then sighed, wiping the splatter of blood off his face.

“I shouldn't have done that,” He said, slightly embarrassed. “Hit him, that is. Hopefully this won't buy him more sympathy than he deserves.” He stepped around his fallen victim and began gathering up the weapons that had caused the conflict. “Did he hurt you at all, Cyril?”

“Ah...n-no, he didn't, Claude was there,” The young man stammered out, scrambling to help. “I – c'mon, you don't have to -”

“Please, it's the least I can do,” Dimitri picked up the lance and carefully balanced it in Cyril's arms. “I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. Has that happened often?” Cyril opened his mouth, hesitated, then stammered out a weak-sounding denial. “Please, be honest. And not just with me, but Lady Rhea as well. She won't stand for this, I assure you.”

“She wouldn't, huh...” Claude murmured, just barely audible to them.

Dimitri stood up and held out the few weapons to his counterpart. “Would you take these?” He asked politely. “I have to see to him. And speak with Seteth. The fact that he felt comfortable attacking you and Cyril...” He shook his head.

Claude took the weapons without saying a word, green eyes sharpening. Dimitri was struck with the intense sense that he was being analyzed, though those emerald pools were as frustratingly enigmatic as ever. For him to slip so easily back into that calm...how often had he heard people say such things about him...? “Yeah, no problem,” The brunette said casually. “Though I'm not sure how you're going to explain that,” he nodded toward the unconscious soldier.

“Oh, I intend to tell the truth,” Dimitri said firmly, striding over to the man and slinging him over one shoulder. The plate armor dug uncomfortably into his neck, but he ignored it with long practice. “and by the goddess, he will never mistreat either of you again.”

He left the alley, feeling Claude's gaze burning into his back long after he reached the infirmary.

\+ _ + _ + _ + _

Seteth, fortunately, seemed almost as unhappy as Dimitri himself after he was told the full story. Oh, he was displeased by the prince's lack of control over his temper, but punishment that consisted just of two weeks worth of weeding the gardens was a small price to pay for insuring the ornery soldier would be thoroughly disciplined and reassigned to border duty. Dimitri knew it wasn't very princely of him, but he couldn't help the satisfied smirk he gave when Seteth informed the man of Lady Rhea's great displeasure. The soldier turned white as a sheet.

“To think he had the nerve to abuse the Archbishop's guests behind her back,” Seteth muttered afterwards, glowering. “I need to speak to the other knights and see how much they knew of or enabled this behavior.”

Dimitri was quite grateful; both because Cyril and Claude were clearly disturbed by what happened, and because this inspection would likely catch those giving Dedue trouble as well.

“Thank you, for bringing this to my attention.” Seteth nodded at him. “Though it would behoove you not to use your fists should this happen again.”

“Forgive me,” Dimitri bowed, contrite. “It's just that...I have been using words alone to defend my friend for the longest time. The frustration I feel in those moments is immense. I hope that as I continue to master my weapons, my emotions will follow.”

Seteth nodded. “See to it. You are dismissed now; dinner will be served shortly, after all.”

The walk down to the dining hall did wonders to clear his head; even though he couldn't taste anything these days, some good food from home was always welcome. The warm racket of conversation engulfed him as he entered and went to serve himself; the Hunting Festival was on, meaning there was enough food for everyone to have seconds. His classmates were already there; even at the front of the hall, he could hear Annette enthusiastically discussing the desert menu with Mercedes, Ingrid telling Ashe about the new book of tales in the library, and Dedue scolding Sylvain for flirting with the maids amidst the chatter of the hall. He stood there for a moment, plate in hand, just...trying to absorb that warmth he could feel from everyone present.

It made his demons feel far away.

It was almost ironic. He had come to the monastery primarily to find out the truth about Duscur, to chase down the one truly responsible for the brutal deaths of his loved ones and _end _them. Yet even as he worked, he found himself distracted by...little things. The cheer of his fellow Blue Lions as they pulled him this way and that way, chasing things that caught their eye. The lazy Wednesdays he spent fishing, not often catching much (his tendency to break things extended to fishing lines, unfortunately) but enjoying himself all the same. The tournaments that allowed him test his skills in an innocent way, harming no one while still imparting valuable experience. It was as if, as long as he stayed here, no voice would trouble him.

“There you are!”

Except perhaps for one!

Claude appeared at his side as if out of the ether, beaming brightly and catching his plate before he dropped it in shock. “Been looking for you,” He said blithely. “C'mon, we saved you a seat.”

“I-what? Claude – wait – but I'm not one of the -” Dimitri's confused protests fell on deaf ears; Claude grabbed his arm and half tugged, half dragged him to the far right of the dining hall, where the Golden Deer claimed their long table. Sure enough, there was an empty seat tucked right between Raphael and the leader's own chair; Claude casually put his plate there and dropped back in front of his own meal, which was almost untouched.

“It's the last Friday before our first live training exercise,” The brunette said by way of explanation, “Sounds like a reason to celebrate to me. Seeing as you're already a step head, why don't you impart your wisdom on our unruly gaggle of misfits?”

“So it did happen!” A white haired girl – Lysithea, Dimitri was fairly certain that was her name – leaned forward with an eager smile. “You really did knock out that guy harassing Cyril in one punch?!”

Dimitri's ears burned. “Don't tell me everyone's already heard of that,” He pleaded.

“Eh, too late,” Hilda von Goneril cackled at his embarrassed facepalm. “That was _awesome, _by the way. That guy is a total creep; he's only at the monastery because my brother kicked him out our household!”

“I heard you knocked his teeth out, and you weren't even wearing gauntlets!” Raphael said eagerly. “That's not all; I asked around, and I heard that you lifted an entire carriage by yourself once!”

“It was for a good cause,” Dimitri protested, “My crest aside, physical strength is in my blood. My father-” He stalled, swallowing hard over the emotions the memory brought up, “-my father once lifted a tree off Felix and I after it fell and nearly crushed us. Before that, he told me a story about my grandfather where he carried a foal through the woods so a healer could tend to its leg. It's a – a family quirk, you could say.”

“I'd love to hear the stories,” Leonie said, stretching before pushing her empty plate toward one of the serving bowls. “Especially if they end with you dropping jerks like rocks.”

Dimitri sputtered and turned to halfheartedly glare at Claude. The brunette grinned at him, eyes dancing with amusement. Something got stuck in the prince's brain at the sight when he realized he'd never seen that before. Not quite. He was smiling, pleased with himself...and it didn't seem artificial. Guarded, maybe; rooted in Dimitri's current awkwardness, absolutely. But...it was real.

It changed Claude's whole face. Suddenly everything in his demeanor was playful, welcoming...and the effect of that was immediate and overwhelming.

The discomfort he'd so often felt around the man evaporated like morning mist; his lips started moving, and he found himself telling stories he had kept to himself...well, ever since Duscur. About his grandfather. About his father, and stepmother, and Glenn. It amazed him that he still remembered those good times; even though, in moments, he would flash back to that terrible day, the laughter and fascination of the lively people around him drove the images away.

It was strange how alike, yet how different the Golden Deer were from his own Lions. They were relaxed in a way noble children weren't; Raphael and Leonie casually swore on occasion, while Ignatz was nervous and fascinated by art, twice offering to paint him a picture. Lysithea was obsessed with sweets and Marianne hardly spoke; Hilda, meanwhile, seemed to get a kick out of being as lazy as possible and was proud of it. Lorenz was the most like a noble Dimitri might have met at home, yet his shameless flirting was dangerously akin to Sylvain. Yet they welcomed him without batting an eye. Suddenly Dimitri wondered if this was Claude's strength; that anyone could come to him and his people and feel like they belonged there.

That...was an incredible power, indeed.

And Claude...Claude kept drawing him into conversation – through jokes, though casual observations...once again, the weight of his attention was a felt thing. Dimitri didn't know what to make of it...and there were moments where the young man casually touched him and he just prayed he wasn't as visibly baffled as he felt. What had changed? Surely such a basic kindness as he showed earlier wouldn't be enough to drop the barriers the future Duke Riegan had built around himself?

Dimitri lost track of time in the midst of this; dinner ended before he knew it, Dedue removing the empty plate in front of him while regarding him very curiously. Claude smiled cheerfully at his retainer and said, “No need to make that face~! We were only borrowing him; just one more moment and I'll give him right back.” He winked at Dimitri and sauntered out of the room, clearly expecting him to follow.

“It's no trouble, Dedue,” Dimitri assured hastily, scrambling to get up. “I enjoyed myself, actually.” He smiled at the Golden Deer, earning friendly grins in return. “I'll be right back.” He left the hall at a jog, a strange hope in his chest that he had earned honesty, somehow, from this morning.

Claude wasn't loitering just outside the door. Instead, he waited for Dimitri to emerge and then left down the stairs to the fishing dock and toward the greenhouse. This late in the evening, there was rarely anyone there except for Dedue or maybe Bernadetta; sure enough, it was empty except for them when the door swung shut behind the prince and the duke.

“So that was nice,” Claude said brightly. “And here I thought you were another boring, stuffy noble. It's good to be wrong sometimes.”

“Claude...” Dimitri sighed, before deciding to cut through to the heart of it. “Was this spurred on by what happened this morning? When we spoke at the table, you mentioned Cyril being harassed, but not yourself. Why?”

The brunette raised his arms, linking his fingers behind his head. “You saw why,” He responded easily. Dimitri flinched, instantly thinking he'd made a mistake, because those green eyes were cold again. “I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread that around; it's what I wanted to say. People in Fodlan look at outsiders like they're some kind of monster. I've heard everything that jerk said before and more besides; there have even been attempts on my life.”

“That's...” Dimitri stammered, dumbfounded by the implications. More than one attempt on his life? How was that possible? Was Claude's grandfather unwilling to protect him? How...how could Claude look so _calm _while saying that? “That's _horrible_.”

Claude shrugged. “The scriptures claim the Goddess said that no one born in Fodlan belongs outside its borders, and no one born outside was chosen by Her.” His voice was sour. “Isn't she supposed to be loving and compassionate?”

“That's -” He swallowed his instinctive response hard. “The scripture was written by her children, after Serios defeated Nemesis. Perhaps they made a mistake. I cannot see the goddess saying such things...”

“But don't you?” Claude said, dropping his arms and staring intently at him. “You surprised the hell out of me, you know, barging in and defending the honor of two Almyrans.”

“Why would that be _surprising?_” Dimitri protested, offense bubbling up in his throat. If he was going _there..._

“A lot of reasons,” Was the even response. _Yes he was._ “You're the prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus; your people have the closest relationship to the church out of everyone in Fodlan. You were raised on those scriptures. You have access to sacred rites that the Emperor no longer does, after the schism. And _you_ have more reason than most to be wary of outsiders. I figured-”

“_It's not like that__**!**_” The words came out like a whip crack; Claude actually jumped back a step at the force of his response. “Duscur...Duscur was a _mistake!_” He let out a harsh breath. “If I am to know your most dangerous secret, Claude, in return let me tell you my greatest shame. _I do not believe Duscur was responsible for my family's death! _The day it happened...the day I lost everyone I loved...the weapons of Duscur are made in particular shapes; _distinctive _ones, forged in accordance to the will of their gods! The sword that tore my father's arm off was _Fodlan made_! The arrows that laid Glenn down had no feathers, no ornamentation! I saw men of Duscur struck down trying to help Glenn and I escape the flames; they put their _lives_ down for us! But...but when I returned home...I failed. I failed to convince my father's council of this! I failed to convey the truth!”

Claude stared wide-eyed at him; he went on almost maniacally, gesticulating when words failed. “My father's men...they lead a massacre of innocent people! Even if men of Duscur had killed my father, the brutality shown upon them...! Dedue's sister, his mother... shopkeepers, farmers, street children...! Even if men of Duscur had been responsible, people who would have had no way of knowing it, no way of stopping it, they were all killed. They died because I failed to sway the very people I am meant to rule over! Because it was easier to blame the _strange, foreign people of Duscur _than attempt to hunt an unknown culprit!”

Dimitri raked a hand through his hair, letting out a seething sob. “Truly, Claude, you may think what you will about me, but do not _ever_ believe I would wish for, or _allow_, any harm to come to you on account of your Almyran blood. May the goddess have mercy on anyone who _tries_, because I won't.”

A very still silence hung in the air. It felt oppressive. Dimitri had told precious few people, after that day, about what he'd seen. Even his fellows in the Blue Lions were largely in the dark. The goddess alone knew why he'd just blurted it all out; had the words really felt like an accusation?

“Um...w-well, I clearly shouldn't have said that,” Claude managed after a minute, and at any other time Dimitri would have marveled at the other teen being so clearly on the back foot. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like _that; _really, I only figured on understandable distrust and suspicion. You're too much of a knight in shining armor to attack me without provocation.”

_A knight in shining armor?, _Dimitri wondered. _For a man as observant as you...you don't even suspect? I suppose you simply haven't had the chance..._ “Apologies for that tirade,” He said with a sigh. “That was immature of me.”

“Seriously?” Claude shook his head, his expression softening significantly. Dimitri suddenly felt trapped, a mouse mesmerized by a hawk overhead. “You were talking about people going over your head to commit a massacre. I would have been more disturbed if you could talk about that as if it were a mildly interesting day out.” He frowned. “Don't you realize how ridiculously brave what you did was? You walked into a room full of bloodthirsty, vengeful soldiers in a borderline frenzy and told them they were _wrong;_ that could have ended _extremely _poorly for you.” He raised his palms up. “There wasn't much you _could _have done; you weren't king then; in their eyes, you were just the fragile orphan prince who was confused by his grief.”

“Which is a great comfort to Duscur, I'm sure,” Dimitri replied bitterly.

“I doubt it would be, but it's true. None of what happened is your fault.” Claude said in such a matter of fact way; the sun was hot, water was wet, _it wasn't your fault_. Dimitri almost reeled. “Hey...Dedue is part of your household, right? I guess you've had to defend him from a lot of slander.” He actually smiled. “I'm flattered someone like me, from the wrong side of the landscape, was worth the trouble.”

“You're correct.” Dimitri managed a weak smile in return. “Truly, Claude, if any kingdom soldier gives you trouble, please – tell me immediately. I swear I'll deal with it.”

“You're serious...” Was there a little wonder in Claude's voice? “I should have expected as much from you. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“If people have honestly tried to kill you over something so petty, you had every right to be wary,” Dimitri responded with a shake of his head. “If it is your wish, I won't speak of your heritage. Though...perhaps someday you won't have to worry over people knowing.”

“Someday, when fish can fly and stars can be woven into crowns,” Claude deadpanned, but there was no bite in his voice. “I guess you can stop wondering why I look like Cyril now.”

“Oh, that.” He was a little embarrassed to be reminded of that comment he'd made earlier in the month. “Honestly, I'd meant to remark on how, if he was blessed by the same arcane magic that touched you at birth, he'd grow up to be quite handsome. Yet I only managed to make you anxious instead...I'm sorry.”

“Arcane magic?” Claude parroted, blinking rapidly. “What, uh, what exactly is the context for that?”

“Well, it's your Almyran blood, I realize now. It makes you incredibly striking,” Dimitri said in all seriousness. “Something about your skin and your eyes...truly, when I first saw you, I thought you'd stepped out of an old northern fable about a star that fell to Fodlan and took on human form. An image that was _somewhat _tarnished the moment you opened your mouth...but not completely. It's no wonder it's so easy for you to charm people.”

He expected a joke, a laugh, to be teased, any number of things in response to something that he realized the instant _after _he spoke the words could be construed as a clumsy and shamelessly direct flirtation.

Instead, however, he was greeted with the unusual sight of Claude von Riegan stunned completely speechless. The brunette's mouth moved silently, green eyes full of a cascading emotion Dimitri wasn't sure he could name. The silence stretched on for several moments, until the prince could finally bear it no more. “You say such pretty things,” The brunette said at last, cutting off his worried inquiry. A small smile broke across his face. Small, yes, but _brilliantly_ warm, one that made his expression _glow_. “You know, if you did _something _with that unruly hair of yours, you'd be getting lots of attention yourself.”

Dimitri felt his face turn burning red. “Ah...is that right?” He ran a self-conscious hand through his eternally unmanageable locks. “I'll...have to consider that.”

“Heh...” Claude's laugh rang through the empty greenhouse, stirring it to life. _Is that his real smile? Goddess, it's amazing. _“I've detained you long enough; we better get back before Dedue starts to think I've kidnapped you. We leave with the princess for live training tomorrow, don't we?” He winked. “I'll see you then.”

With that, the enigmatic Riegan heir slipped out of the building, leaving a slightly flustered and very contemplative Dimitri in his wake.

_It's like he's a different person. No...no, that's not quite right. It's not that he changed, it's that he felt safe. _Dimitri looked down at his hands. _It must be lonely; living as a child of two worlds, kept only in one or the other. But what does that mean for us? Can we be friends, Claude von Riegan? _

_Would you feel safe being friends with the boar prince? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Left side of my brain: I adore Claude so much, I could play his route a dozen times and never tire of it.  
Right side of my brain: But playing Blue Lions blindsided me with how much I admire and respect Dimitri and want nothing but good things to happen to him.  
Left side of my brain: Well, then why not keep both of them?  
Right side of my brain: (instantly starts drafting plotline)
> 
> My brain is full of Three Houses and it won't let me leave, send help. In all seriousness, this plotline literally walked into my head after I reached the point in the Blue Lions playthrough when Claude hands you Failnaught and bows out. I sulkil wondered; 'but Claaaaude, why can't you come with us???' and then one thing lead to another...Anyway, here is the result of that crazy brainchild.
> 
> Also, I dislike writing hateful dialogue even for characters you want to punch in the face. It makes my skin crawl. (shudders) I meant for the soldier to be even more vitriolic, but I just couldn't type out the uglier stuff I came up with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude finds another mystery he can't resist when bandits lead him, Dimitri and Edelgard to the Ashen Demon

_The one time I run into bandits hungry or stupid enough to try and murder royalty, I get paired up with two rulers who don't know how to beat a strategic retreat, _Claude thought dryly when he glanced over his shoulder and realized he had not, in fact, managed to slip off and circle about on his own. Dimitri and Edelgard were right behind him, and as a consequence, so were the bandits. _Sheesh, do Fodlan generals teach anything besides charging straight ahead? _

Or maybe Dimitri saw him disappear, thought he was using himself as a decoy, and was too bloody noble for his own good. _That sounds about right. _The thought gave him a mix of amusement and a really irritating backflip in his chest. _Gah, this is not the time! _

“Claude,” Dimitri gasped out after nearly crashing into a tree, “where are we going?” The bandits shouting was getting closer; give it another few minutes and those axe wielding nutjobs would be right on top of them...

“Remire!,” He shouted back, “Hurry up!”

“That's just a tiny farming village!” Edelgard said incredulously. “If we go there, we'll only involve the civilians.”

“You need to keep up with the chatter!,” He chided her, stomping on his annoyance. It _was _strange on the face of it. “Lately, Remire's been the favorite haunt of the Ashen Demon and their fellow mercenaries, and that's not a fight some run-out-of-the-mill bandit wants to pick!”

“The _Ashen Demon_?” Dimitri parroted, matching his pace with his own as an arrow whipped past, missing them both by a foot. “Claude, that mercenary...! All the stories say that person has no feelings; no pity, no remorse, nothing! Even if they were sympathetic, we have little gold to offer!”

“If you've got a better idea, I'd love to hear it,” Claude rasped as they burst out of the trees into a dimly-lit field. “Otherwise, run now and argue strategy later!”

Dimitri choked out a frustrated sentence in what Claude suspected was Old Fodlanese but kept up regardless, repeatedly glancing back to make sure they weren't loosing Edelgard. Fortunately, despite the surprise attack she hadn't gotten hurt at all, only startled awake. Claude, meanwhile, suspected he had bruised ribs judging by the pain radiating from his side. Dimitri's hand was balled into a fist to slow the bleeding in his palm which still had an arrowhead embedded in it.

Claude would give that bandit leader this much credit – it was the first time someone had tried to murder him in his sleep for a while. Fortunately, experience had taught him to keep a knife under his pillow; so he'd been able to slice the tendon of the foot pinning him and free himself before the ax came down on his neck.

Granted, he'd had to immediately throw said knife at the bandit choking Dimitri; it caught the guy in the back of the neck, dropping him. Edelgard then shoved the corpse off of him and the three of them were able to grab their weapons. Of course, they'd quickly been overwhelmed by the sheer _number _of bandits, including two archers, and he'd known they'd had to run for it. Alois was nowhere in sight, nor was the honor guard – a fire in the distance suggested they'd been lured away. With that in mind, Claude had recalled their last location on the map (and the map itself, it must be said) and drew up a plan as quickly as his tired and pain-addled mind would allow.

The Ashen Demon...really, the name was half a myth. Stories trickled in from traveling merchants and artists about a cold, emotionless mercenary who could carve through dozens of enemies with no more effort than dicing vegetables. Of a single swordsman(woman?) facing immense odds and walking out the other side with a nail embedded in one foot and a ship full of corpses to show for it. It was virtually impossible to tell fact from fiction, but after villagers from Remire mentioned the individual repeatedly in the same breath as the mercenary band that had taken to regularly visiting their home...well, he'd planned to investigate under less frantic circumstances, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

They crossed the first plain, then cut across the second one, where the town's iron-wrought gate were illuminated by torches and the late evening sky. Thankfully, they were still open. Good; there had been a couple of moments in running where he'd thought he'd faint from the pain radiating from his side. _Plus we really need to do something about Dimitri's hand. _Hopefully the town had a cleric who could tend to him...

“Hey!” Ah, the gods of fortune were smiling on them after all – rushing through the gates nearly caused him to run right into a pair of men in upscale leather armor and golden earrings. Mercenaries who were skilled enough to thrive in the business showed off their wealth in subtle ways. Be it jewelry, silver weapons, or the latest armor; the more expensive their equipment, the longer they'd been around. And long-lived mercenaries were as valuable as any anointed knight. “What's going on out there?!”

Dimitri staggered to a stop just inside the village, wheezing and clutching his wrist. Claude circled back around to him and grimaced, grabbing his arm when the prince tried to hide the injury in his cloak. The blood seeping out of his impaled palm was getting thick enough to stain most of his hand. “Please tell me you didn't rip the arrowhead out,” He said a bit sarcastically.

“I needed my hands free,” Dimitri protested. His face was significantly paler than normal, visible even in the low light of the torch. He tried to flex his hand and flinched, grimacing. “I can't use my lance otherwise.”

“If you'd left it there, it would have staunched the bleeding _and _you wouldn't have given yourself muscle trauma!” _Seriously, don't Fodlan nobles know _anything _about how to handle war wounds? _“You can't use your lance if you pass out from blood loss!”

Dimitri shook his head. “It's fine, Claude; I've fought with worse than this.”

“You can't rely solely on adrenaline to stay conscious! Do that, and you only need to stop for a moment, or get distracted _once_, before you're too light-headed to do anything but collapse. I can cover you against three or four of them, maybe, if I had a good bow and favorable terrain, but if you pass out in the middle of the field I can't fight and carry you!”

“I take it you kids are in trouble?” One of the mercenaries said dryly, causing Dimitri to start and Edelgard to make an exasperated noise. Claude turned back to the twosome and noted that they both had visible scars, and similar-looking ones to boot. So either they were working as a pair...or they were part of a company that was currently in town.

The other took a step closer and hissed at the sight of Dimitri's hand. “Damn, that's nasty. You were ambushed, weren't you?”

“Yes; they came while we were asleep.” Dimitri said, quickly burying his surprise under his usual princely demeanor. “Forgive us; this was the only place we could reach with them right on our heels.” Distant shouts echoed across the plains behind them. “There were too many of them for us. We...are still in training, after all.”

The two mercenaries looked at each other for a moment, then out at the plains. “Hell...they _look _like kids,” The first one sighed. “More pro-bono work. Well, whatever – we needed to break in the new horses at some point.”

“I'll go get Captain Jeralt and his girl,” His friend said, glancing at Dimitri. “She'll be able to take care of his hand.”

The first one snorted. “She can do that and a whole lot more.”

“I _know_. I try not to think about that sometimes.” With that totally-not-ominous remark hanging in the air, the man disappeared up the road.

That gave Claude a moment to address something that was bothering him. “Hey, Dimitri, remind me – how _did_ you end up with an arrowhead in your hand? Did one of the bandits use it in place of a knife?” He hadn't _seen _the guy he'd managed to knock off holding an arrow, but maybe he'd been looking from a wrong angle.

“Oh...” Dimitri blinked, and shook his head. A look of unease crossed his face. “No. I had...a premonition, I guess. I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye and brought my hand up in front of my face.”

“...You need better gauntlets.” Claude said, his voice carefully dry and observant. _A 'premonition?' Is that what you call those little things you try so hard not to react to? A little thing visceral enough to make you throw your hand in front of your face, inadvertently saving yourself? _“Can you not buy anything hardier than the standard handouts all students get from the blacksmith?”

Dimitri looked ruefully down at his trembling, bloody hand. “I came here with a limited allowance; the same as you, I wager, seeing as you have little to no armor at all.”

Claude rolled his eyes a bit. _Has anyone told you you're too bloody noble for your own good? _“I'm an archer. If I let people get close enough to stab me, I'm already up a creek.”

“Truly talented archers are capable of firing point blank,” Edelgard said, her tone slightly lofty. “It's considered an important skill in the Empire. Something worth considering, perhaps?”

Claude made a production of looking contemplative. Before he could fire off a witty retort, the crunch of feet on the gravel and a booming baritone heralded the arrival of their saviors. “What's the situation?” The old man asked; he had the voice of someone who was used to being obeyed, someone who demanded respect, and someone who did not suffer fools lightly. The three of them basically turned around as one, as sure as if one of the teachers had caught them misbehaving.

Claude's first impression of Jeralt the Blade Breaker was _holy shit are you actually a walking mountain?, _because the man towered over him even more than Nader or his own father. His blue eyes were steely and impassive as they swept over him, Dimitri and Edelgard, assessing them, deciding whether or not this was a trap. He wore heavy leather and fur, with a lance strapped over his shoulder and a sword at his belt. Also, he looked muscular enough to bodily lift Marianne with his left hand and Hilda with his right without even breaking a sweat. Scars cut rough edges into his rugged face, old and faded ones that spoke of many hard won battles. Claude could admit to feeling a little bit of awe, just as his eyes slid to the figure right behind him and the world tilted quite suddenly.

A lithe silent shadow trotted to a halt at her father's board shoulder, impassive blue eyes meeting his evenly with the barest hint of curiosity. She was freakishly tall as well, having at least three inches on both him _and _Dimitri (which was just unfair) and slender figure built solely of hard muscle and smooth, tempting curves that even the loose-fitted robes of a swordmaster couldn't conceal. She had a blade buckled to her belt, a quiver and a cheap but reliable bow slung over her shoulder. Dark blue hair swept down to her pale neck, cut practically short and pinned away from her face by silver clasps; the only thing she seemed to possess that was at all expensive. The scars she had that he could see, tracing sharp lines across her collarbone, circling the crown of her head, and nicking her jaw, hardly detracted from the divine sight – nah; they _enhanced _it. Did she have more, concealed by those long sleeves?

_Whoa, down princeling! Your Almyran tastes are showing. _

Admittedly, her complete lack of expression was a distracting enough that he didn't say or do anything ill advised with her scowling father standing right in front of him.

“Forgive our intrusion. We wouldn't bother you if the situation weren't dire.” Dimitri said, keeping an admirable straight face even though Claude bloody well knew he'd had to mentally pick his jaw up off the ground. A quick glance at Edelgard and what do you know, they were all in agreement about something!

The living mountain – the captain, Jeralt (was it _that _Jeralt? The famed Captain of the Knights?) – raised a solitary eyebrow. “What are a couple of kids like you doing out at this hour?”

“We're being pursued by some bandits. I can only hope you'd be willing to lend your support.” Dimitri bowed politely; Claude amused himself by imagining Acheron throwing a shrieking fit at the mere thought of showing respect and deference to someone of lower social standing. _If the prince who lives and breathes chivalry can humble himself without complaint, what does that make you, weasel? _

“It's true!” Edelgard jumped in, gazing exclusively at the girl. “We were resting in camp when they jumped us.”

“We've been separated from our companions, and we're outnumbered,” He tossed in casually. “They're after our lives...not to mention our gold.”

The swordswoman tilted her head, then walked forward in silent steps and took hold of Dimitri's injured hand. She frowned, studying the gory wound for a long moment, before placing her other palm over it. Claude was pretty damn surprised when a flare of white magic surrounded the prince's bloody skin, wiping away the injury as though it had never been. _Okay, since when do physically inclined fighters have aptitude for faith magic? _

“Thank you,” Dimitri said gratefully, flexing his fingers easily in wonder. “Claude is injured as well – one of the bandits tried to kick his ribs in.”

Without a word of acknowledgment, her attention swung straight over to him. If he swallowed when she placed her hand on his side, pretty face lightly bent with concentration, he blamed it on the disorienting run and lack of sleep. The blessed warmth washing the pain away also made for a half decent story.

“I'm surprised you're so calm, considering the situation,” The Captain said dryly. Something changed in his expression when he looked closer at them. “Wait...that uniform...”

“Captain Jeralt, sir!” Another mercenary ran up to them, panting for breath. “Bandits have surrounded the village. The ones south are trying to start fires. We've moved the civilians further in, but-”

“Right. I'm on my way.” Jeralt rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a tired sigh. The mercenary nodded and darted off the way he'd came, taking the two from earlier with him. “All bark and no brains, these ones.” He turned to his daughter and said without preamble, “Kid, you see that?” He pointed out the front gates. The bandits had left the forest and were making their way towards them.

She nodded once. He smirked at that and said, “Good. You're in charge here. No one gets in, no one falls, and these three are your responsibility. I'll take care of the fires.”

“Wait, what?” Claude said blankly. Jeralt ignored him, whistling sharply. A large gray stallion shot up the road to his side; without breaking stride, he grabbed the bridle and saddled up before the animal even came to a stop. Then he vanished towards the smoke, leaving just the four of them to protect the entrance to town.

“He can't seriously expect you to fight alone?” Dimitri blurted in surprise. “There have to be at least nine of them – ah, my lady?”

She strode past him, out to the mouth of the gates, one hand dropping easily to her sword hilt. Pausing in the grass, head tilted slightly, she waited, fingers idly tapping against the weapon's guard. After a tense moment of silent planning, she turned around and openly sized them up. What little light had been in her eyes the moment before was gone, replaced by a blank coolness.

“You.” His pulse jumped quite without his permission at that rich, resonant contralto. That was an incredibly deep voice for a girl no older than him. “Do you have anything to defend yourself with up close?”

Claude shook his head and gave her his most charming smile. “Unfortunately, I lost my knife in a bandit's neck a while back.”

“Mm.” She drew her sword – a good steel blade, well maintained – and pointed at a thicket further up the plain. “That's your vantage point. Take out anyone you can reach; I will cover you.” Her gaze swung over to Edelgard. “You, take him” she nodded at Dimitri “and make yourself visible further to the right. Let them come to you, and fight together. If one of you gets injured, retreat into the thicket and make use of these.” She pulled a number of familiar looking vials out of her coat. Concoctions, unless Claude missed his guess. She shook them pointedly, causing the royals to quit staring and accept the gift. “The cover will provide you a few seconds of reprieve. It may limit your movement, however, so bear that in mind.”

She glanced at Claude and said very matter-of-factly, “I will go out ahead and engage them. Your job is to hit them, and try not to hit me.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away. “Get going. They're almost on us.”

It was almost hilarious how all three of them immediately scrambled to obey. Claude would have liked to blame flashbacks to Judith and her frequent use of what he called her '_listen, brat, and listen well' _voice; that flat order was almost as intimidating despite the lack of an age gap.

He reached the tree with no problems; his head was much clearer without constantly spiking pain to distract him. The blue haired teen – dammit, he hadn't gotten her fucking _name –_ raced ahead of him, attracting the attention of three enemies. The nine bandits were spread out, the biggest and baddest of them (and thus likely the boss) hanging back with two goons flanking him. A few headed off toward Dimitri and Edelgard, but the others seemed to figure that the single woman made for an easier target. He took out an arrow, notched it and waited.

The mysterious girl's first opponent swung his ax in a wild arc; she jerked her blade up, catching it in the curve and wrenching the weapon from his grip, sending it flying into the grass. Immediately she lashed out driving her foot into his gut and sending him a few steps backward, before bringing her sword down. The blade hacked across his face and dug into his chest. His choked scream indicated she'd hit a lung; she drew back and cut sideways, slicing open his throat. Blood splattered her gauntlets as he fell to the ground. She stepped over her pray without pausing, the battle over in mere moments, approaching the two behind him with easy grace.

Letting out a sharp breath, he aimed for one and – keeping movement in mind – fired. She didn't even flinch at the arrow tearing past her to hit one of her enemies dead in the eye; she shifted her stance accordingly and ducked under a graceless swing aimed at her head. Her sword turned sharply and sliced the tendons on the brigand's leg, bringing him down to one knee as she reoriented herself. If her sword biting into the neck didn't kill the man, then the arrow buried in his collarbone did.

Flicking her blade in a gesture that was a bit too deliberate to be contemptuous, she stowed the weapon away and slung the bow off her back. A roar from further up the field told him what's she'd seen – the boss's two goons were charging. She casually strung two arrows and fired; it was a bit far from where he stood, but he was pretty sure she hit one of them in the thigh and the stomach, dropping him before he got within a dozen feet of her. She jumped back a foot as his partner approached, bow pointed straight at the man's face.

Perfect Point-Blank firing posture. She was highly proficient in at least two weapon types, enough to transfer between them without breaking stride? He felt a twinge of inadequacy even as his third arrow struck home, staggering the brigand right before she put an arrow through his throat.

_The tides of battle turn rapidly, don't they?, _he thought with perhaps more glee than necessary. Hey, just because he was familiar with murder attempts didn't mean he didn't resent them.

His thoughts were interrupted by a high, familiar string of whistled notes. His heart sped up; gods, how many times had he heard Nader use that old standby? Her troupe must have spent some time in Almyra. That signal meant that there was a change in plans without any dialogue getting lost in the chaos of the battlefield. He stepped out of the tree's shade; she nodded, the gesture barely visible, before gesturing sharply toward Edelgard and Dimitri.

The royals were managing, though they seemed to be flagging a bit. Dimitri had gotten himself hurt – _again! _– judging by the way he was holding his lance, and Edelgard seemed to be favoring one leg. The girl pointed to a tree closer to them and then darted off, sword in hand.

Really, the brigand stood no chance. He was too preoccupied with Dimitri to notice the girl coming up behind him. Just as Claude reached the tree, he watched her smash the hit of her sword into the enemy face – likely obliterating his jaw, given the cringe-inducing _crack _he could hear despite the distance – allowing Dimitri to shove his lance into the gut and finish him off. With her managing the prince, Claude took aim again and took out the knee of Edelgard's opponent. He crashed to the ground and was promptly decapitated.

_Is that all of-? No, of course not, the boss... _The man was making his way toward them, clutching a throwing ax in one hand. _Yeah, because that worked out so well for your friends._ Claude whistled sharply, getting the girl's attention. If he was the big man in charge, he'd probably be harder to kill than his grunts.

She drove the tip of her sword into the ground, slung her bow off her back and fired. The first shot went wide, but as the man turned to face her directly, the second shot glanced off his arm and a third one sank into his stomach. He didn't fall like the others; clearly he had some actual armor. Claude debated trying to go for a headshot, but the brigand was running away from him and toward his companions, so it wouldn't do to miss.

Fortunately, she didn't need help. She just dropped her bow, pulled her sword free of the dirt and feinted left; his attack missed her as she danced aside and swung her sword upward, slicing his nose judging by the murky screech that followed it. Again she spun past his sloppy retaliation, crouching and cashing into him with her full weight. When he hit the ground, she reversed her grip on her sword and slammed it into his face once, twice, three times. Then paused.

A few seconds went by. Claude licked his dry lips and silently lamented his weakness for men and women who could take him on in a straight fight. _After yesterday, that is _so _unfair. Why show me a menu I can't eat from? _

The girl got up, casually wiping her sword on the body of her last victim. Something prickled at the back of Claude's brain, the ease, the casualness of it...she wasn't even injured, was she? He stepped out into the open again, walking over to Dimitri and Edelgard where they stood aside from the bodies. It was all over except for the bleeding.

“Done,” Her voice broke the early morning silence. Their rescuer was kneeling in the mud, collecting her bow. She still had a few arrows left; by contrast, his own quill was empty.

“Are..are you uninjured?” Dimitri managed, somehow sounding both awestruck and almost wary within the same breath.

“I'm fine,” She replied absently, examining her weapon with a frown. “Damn, the string is broken again. That's a nuisance.”

He suppressed a chuckle and asked, “Is that all you have to say?” Her eyes turned to him, cool and empty except for the faintest curiosity. Was she carved from stone? “That's an awfully subdued reaction from someone who cut down five bandits in as many minutes.”

“Technically, two of those kills were yours,” She responded with a shrug. “Your support was appreciated; I was able to escape without injury this time.” She looked over at Dimitri and Edelgard. “You all acquitted yourself quite well, for amateurs.”

Claude's burst of laughter was almost involuntary. It wasn't often that someone casually dissed the three most important heirs on the continent! “Ah, you got us there! Oh dear.”

“Claude...!” Dimitri groaned in exasperation...though his voice had much less bite in it than it might have a week ago. “That's no way to show gratitude.”

He bowed with a wink. “I assure you, I am entirely grateful to our glorious war goddess.” She shifted on one foot, blinking rapidly. “It's because of you I'm not dead right now. Thanks for that!” He smiled playfully. “I'd heard there were mercenaries lingering in Remire, but I didn't think you were _this _good.”

“That's true,” Edelgard mused, regarding the girl intently.

Claude was finally about to ask for her name when a yell cut them off. Somehow – _somehow, _considering how freakin' bloody his face was – the brigand leader was back on his feet. And he was running straight for the princess.

Something rippled in the air; he could swear it, he felt something shift, could taste magic like ozone surrounding them as thick as rain. But in a blink, the girl moved again, throwing herself in front of Edelgard and catching her sword in the curve of the man's ax. She jerked backward, wrenching the weapon away from its wielder and launching it somewhere in the woods. The brigand staggered backwards, breath heaving, staring at her.

“You...” He gurgled, “It's you. That soulless creature...the Ashen Demon.”

Claude heard Dimitri suck in a sharp breath next to him; a chill of vindication swept over the alarm and surprise that had ruled him only moments ago. The girl, however, merely sighed. “My father warned me that name would stick,” She remarked with tired irritation. She brought her bloody steel blade up and pointed it at his chest. “You should have played dead. Goodbye.”

A death threat had never sounded so gentle and serene.

Evidently, that was too much for the brigand, because he turned and booked it, fleeing into the forest like a terrified child. The girl, as soon as he was gone, smacked her palm against her forehead. “Bloody stupid, basic mistake,” She berated herself. “Cut off the head, sever limbs, and if you don't do that, _always _check for breathing. Goddess damn it.” She looked back at Edelgard. “I'm sorry. That was sloppy of me.”

Edelgard recovered quickly for someone who'd nearly been gutted, and shook her head earnestly. “He took several blows to the face! That would stop most men. Please, don't trouble yourself. You saved me, again.”

The neigh of a horse cut Dimitri's concern off; Jeralt appeared from the village. Looking at the sky showed that the smoke was clearing up. He must have come as soon as he finished up on his end. “That was...Byleth, did you just...?” He looked worried.

Huh. That was weird. And the weirder thing was...she kind of looked confused too.

Naturally, after everything was over and questions were laying thick in the air..._that _was when Alois thundered into the clearing, the knights at his side, bellowing about how justice had arrived. “We shall cut you down for terrorizing our students!” He raised his ax triumphantly, only to be thwarted by the empty clearing and fleeing bandits. “Wait, they're getting away! After them!”

Claude rolled his eyes and called out cheerfully, “Sir Alois! You missed all the excitement!” Dimitri facepalmed, and he could just _hear _Edelgard rolling her eyes at him. The girl...Byleth, Jeralt called her...tensed up, one hand dropping to her sword.

Jeralt groaned as Alois hurried towards them. He dismounted and placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. “It's alright, kid. He's no threat.” She relaxed, before offering up her broken bow with an apologetic look. “Don't worry about that...I'd been meaning to buy you a new one anyhow.”

Alois skidded to a halt in front of the mountain of a man, eyes widening comically. “C-Captain Jeralt? Is that you?! Goodness, it's been ages!” Byleth started visibly. Wasn't that interesting? “Don't you recognize me?! It's Alois! Your old right hand man! At least, that was how I thought of myself. It must have been – what – twenty years ago when you vanished without a trace?! I always knew you were still alive!”

Jeralt sighed. “You haven't changed a bit, Alois, just as loud as ever.” Claude smothered a snicker in his hand. Dimitri tried to look disapproving, but the twitch of his lip betrayed him. “And drop that 'captain' nonsense. I'm not your captain anymore. These days I'm just a wandering mercenary. One who has work to do.” He nodded. “You've got the kids back unharmed; you'd better return to the school. I'll see you around, old friend.” He made to walk off. Byleth looked back and forth, then tried to follow him.

Ser Alois spluttered a bit, before saying, “Wait! This is not how this conversation ends! I _insist _that you come back to the monastery with me.”

Jeralt stopped walking and stood very, very still. Claude's eyes narrowed.

So Jeralt hadn't gone missing, he'd chosen to leave without explanation, leaving everything he'd known – and everything he'd gained as the most prestigious Knight of Seiros – without a backwards glance. The man's body language screamed that he didn't want to go back, but he had no way to refuse without looking suspicious as hell. Yet another mystery dangled just out of his reach, begging to be solved. As if he didn't have enough to dig through...especially now.

_Why are Fodlan's borders closed...where do the relics come from...the riddle of Duscar's tragedy...and now, why did the strongest man who ever lived run away from the church? _

Byleth walked over and placed a hand on her father's wrist. The gesture was small and concerned, and it was the most visible emotion he'd seen from her since the start. “Garreg Mach Monastery.” Jeralt enunciated heavily. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head. “I guess this was inevitable.”

_And one more, _Claude added with perhaps greater curiosity than the rest, _What happened to his daughter that she seems less alive than the statues of the saints? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be rotating perspectives between our three leads as the chapters go on - it'll be Dimitri, Claude, Byleth, and then Dimitri again. Occasionally I might switch to a side character in a 'breather' chapter, but those will be occasional and reserved for important story beats. 
> 
> Side note - I really can't stand female Byleth's default outfit. I mean, what kind of experienced mercenary wears something that exposes that much skin? The worst part is the Enlightened One outfit keeps the blatant fanservicy skin windows! Drives me bonkers. However, the swordsmaster outfit I find looks really cool, and since Byleth has not-insignificant experience under her belt, I figured it would make sense storywise for her to be in an advanced class. 
> 
> Also, I'm updating fairly quickly because I wrote a big chunk of this in one sitting, and university is only just starting so I'm not drowning in work quite yet. Update speed will likely slow down as things get busier.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth is not prone to strong reactions, but if she was, she'd say she was extremely confused.

As much as she could say she had emotions, Byleth was quite confounded.

Her father was – with the exception of her mother – not a sentimental man. It had never struck her as odd that he didn't talk about his past. She'd never felt the need to ask (she'd never felt much of anything) where he'd come from before her birth, or why they never lingered in one place for very long. He avoided the church in spite of how precious faith was to members of their own team, so she followed his lead – he never did things without a reason. Why did it matter where he'd come from? He was there with her, that was all that mattered.

Or so she'd thought.

Her mind was whirling as her father vanished back into Remire with that knight, to inform the band of their change in plans. Her father had been a captain, an immensely important man, and now they were going somewhere he would rather avoid. He seemed resigned to it. Why not refuse? Why did he leave in the first place? What in the seventh hell was happening?!

And after that happened earlier...

The girl Edelgard...the power...Sothis...

Byleth bit her lip hard; _something _indescribable was bubbling violently in her chest and it greatly discomforted her. Though perhaps that was only to be expected, since she had nearly died.

It wasn't the first time she'd brushed with death; she'd been fighting alongside her father ever since she was old enough to properly wield a sword. But it _was _the first time she would have died for sure without intervention – _divine _intervention, at that. The thought was...discomforting, for lack of any better descriptor. She reached up and rubbed her left shoulder; she couldn't quite reach the place near her spine where the ax would have come down. There was a twinge of phantom pain there, an ache just strong enough to gnaw at the back of her mind.

_It will not linger overlong, _a familiar girl's voice promised. _'Tis merely an echo of what might have been. You did live through the moment, after all. _

Byleth bit her lip, letting her hand fall down to her side. _I see, _she thought 'back' at the strange green haired girl she'd dreamed of all her life.

Sothis hummed. _It is a good thing. That would have been a shameful way to go, would it not? _

_...Would it have been truly shameful to die saving another?, _Byleth asked in turn, wondering. It was true she did not know Edelgard, but to imply that her life was not worth saving, even at great expense – well, the thought did not sit right with her.

_It is a far greater thing to **live** for another than to die for them, _Sothis responded sternly, the childish amusement gone from her voice. _If you are to forget everything else I say to you, you must remember that above all. Promise me that right now!_

_I swear it, _Byleth responded quickly and seriously, bewildered by the sudden change in mood. Sothis was mercurial, lazy, and sharp tongued, but her moods up to this point had been playful, exasperated and contemplative – to invoke such a tone must be intentional, to add more weight to the words. She did not know what manner of spirit the girl was (a guardian spoken of in Brigid's myths? A lord of the rising dawn as described by Almyra? A sky god of Duscar? An emissary of Fodlan's goddess?) but it was clear that she was older than her appearance suggested, and likely more powerful than Byleth could imagine.

Only a fool ignored the warnings of the divine.

_Good, _Sothis responded, pleased, her demeanor reverting as quickly as it had changed. _I shall hold you to that, Byleth Eisner. _She chuckled lightly. _Ah, it seems your presence is required. Get going!_

Blinking, Byleth cast her eyes about, instinctively looking for her father. There was no sign of him, however – instead, her eyes fell upon the three lordlings they had saved, all of whom were clearly watching her. Edelgard smiled and gestured lightly with one hand, asking without words for a moment of her time in an almost coy manner.

She paused. As a rule, her father handled contracts and business. But this wasn't such, was it? No doubt a couple of young aristocrats who'd just suffered a near-death experience would feel inclined to keep a powerful warrior close by, especially if this was the first time they'd realized they could, in fact, die violently just as the common person did. There was little she had to offer in the way of conversation, and her instinct was to wait until her father returned.

But...they were young as her, perhaps younger. Byleth spent precious little time around anyone outside her fellow mercenaries, all of whom were – if not peers of her father – older than her by a not insignificant margin. Perhaps...it couldn't hurt to see what they wanted?

Hesitantly, she made her way over to them.

“I appreciate your help back there,” The silver haired ax maiden said with impeccable politeness. Her purple eyes swept over Byleth in a way that made her skin tingle, a sensation she couldn't even begin to explain. “Your skill is without question. The Ashen Demon...I must confess, I had thought you to be a myth. A combination of various mercenary teams attributed to a single individual. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“It...is no trouble,” Byleth hedged uncertainly. “My father doesn't like that name much. It is not used as a selling point.”

“Your father, that would be Jeralt the Blade Breaker, wouldn't it?” Edelgard assumed a thinking pose. “Former Captain of the Knights of Seiros, often praised as the strongest man who ever lived. Am I missing anything?”

“I didn't know he was a captain,” She said honestly, feeling as much up in the air as when she'd ridden with the mercenary Hannah on a borrowed pegasus.

Edelgard blinked in surprise. “How curious. I'd wager the explanation for that is fascinating indeed.”

“Hey,” Claude interjected, smiling brightly at her. Byleth turned slightly toward the archer; _isn't that strange? His expression is so warm...yet his eyes are closed off from me. _“You are coming with us to the monastery, right? Of course you are. I'd love to bend your ear as we travel.”

_You want to talk to me?, _Byleth thought in confusion. _Aren't you unnerved by me? Isn't that why that smile of yours isn't quite sincere? _Perhaps it was a matter of honor; nobles were often quite hung up on that. It would be 'rude' to blatantly ignore her after she'd saved his life, so he would speak to her despite her disturbing disposition?

“Oh!, I should mention that the three of us are students at Garreg Mach Monastery. We were doing some training exercises when those bandits attacked.” He raised both his hands. “On average, I'd say it was my third most disastrous camping trip.”

“Third?” Dimitri, the blonde knightly young man, repeated blankly. “Dare I ask what you're ranking above us nearly having our throats slit in our sleep?”

Claude chuckled. “Maybe some other time. It's up there, though, if only because I was the only one who knew out to beat a strategic retreat.” He sighed. “Alas, I looked back and found every single one of those bandits chasing the three of us, leaving me to improvise. Again.”

Dimitri's eye twitched. “So _that's _what you were doing? And here I thought you were being a decoy for the sake of us all. Pray tell, how was I supposed to interpret that amidst the perfectly rational panic we were experiencing?”

“His intentions were as clear as day,” Edelgard replied chidingly. Byleth decided that the three must know each other quite well to bicker so easily after having nearly lost their lives. “You will prove a lacking ruler if you cannot see the truth behind a person's words.” _Wait. What. Ruler?_

Distracted from remonstrating his comrade, Dimitri chuckled lightly and retorted, “You will prove a lacking ruler yourself if you look for deceit behind every word and fail to trust the people around you.”

Ruler. An able ruler. Byleth didn't quite have the words for the sinking feeling in her stomach when she looked between Edelgard and Dimitri, various memories twigging in her brain about how the Empire and the Kingdom's current heirs were her age...a boy and a girl, not yet at their majority, who quite possibly were sent off to finish their studies before taking the throne. _You fought well for amateurs, _her own words rang in her head like a roaring fire. She swallowed in a hopefully unobtrusive way. _Oh goddess, did I just sass the Prince of Faerghus and the Princess of Adrestia? After ordering them around like common mercenaries? _

“Oh joy, a royal debate between their highnesses,” Claude snarked. Byleth felt her face burn and resisted the urge to bolt for her father. _Yes, yes I have. _A musical giggle did nothing to soothe her newfound anxiety – Sothis, the cruel wretch, was laughing at her! If they held a grudge, her father and their troupe could be blacklisted in both kingdoms! There was nothing funny about this! “I wonder how being predicable affects one's ability to rule.” His grin took on a sharper, teasing edge. “As the embodiment of distrust, I'd say your little exchange is rather idealistic!”

Both heirs pivoted to scowl at him. “Me, idealistic?” Edelgard demanded, indignant. “Tell me, are you physically incapable of keeping quiet, or is your lack of self awareness a condition of some sort?!”

“Is that so wrong, Claude?” Dimitri asked, looking exasperated. “It might do you well to be less suspicious yourself.”

Byleth's eyes darted between the three lordings – between the _prince and princess argh what – _wondering if she should take this chance to escape. Once they recovered, they might forget all about her in favor of arguing over who should have done what during the attack...

“Ah, but forgive our digression,” No dice; Dimitri returned his attention to her at that very moment. “I must speak with you, if you could spare a moment.”

Byleth might have sighed, if she was capable of much expression. _Here we go, _she thought in resignation.

“The way you held your ground against the bandit's leader was captivating,” The prince said earnestly, causing her to blink twice. _What. _“You never lost control of the situation. You're an immensely capable woman; it showed me I still have much to learn.” _What? _

“Your skill is precisely why I must ask you to consider lending your skill to the Empire,” Edelgard said confidently. Byleth blinked again, the bewilderment she felt ratcheting up beyond anything she'd ever experienced before. “I might as well tell you now, I am no mere student. In truth-”

“Halt, Edelgard,” Dimitri interrupted, looking affronted. “At least allow me to finish my own proposition.” He bowed to her. Him, a _prince_, bowed to a common, disturbed mercenary! She felt warmth in her cheeks and resisted the odd urge to tug at her hair. “The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in dire need of exceptional individuals like yourself. Please, do consider returning to the kingdom with me.”

Byleth shot a quick glance at the treeline, just to make sure the sun was, in fact, rising in the east. Because what else could possibly explain _this_?

“Whoa, there!” Claude laughed, giving his two companions a mock-disapproving stare. “Trying to recruit someone you just met...tactless, really.” Byleth's relief lasted roughly three seconds before he followed that up with, “I was personally planning to develop a deep and lasting friendship on our way back to the monastery before begging for favors.” He shrugged dramatically and gave her another intimately friendly smile. “But it seems there's no time for niceties in this world. So, capable stranger, where does your allegiance lie?”

It sounded like a joke, but how could she be sure of that?!

“I'm a mercenary,” She protested, amazed that her voice remained as calm and even as ever. “I swear by the sword before politics. I have no permanent home, and I move where the job takes me. I cannot answer that!” Wracking her brain, she tried to think of something to say that would satisfy at least one of the absurdly powerful teenagers in front of her. “I, I am a sword for hire. Whenever a moment arises, I am at your disposal. Myself and my father, that is.”

She waited for a response for an agonizingly long second. Claude responded first...by clapping, “A clever answer, and one that fits the job,” He said playfully. “It's a hard bargain, though. The two of you together are an expensive prospect! What would it cost just for you?”

Byleth's pulse jumped. (That so rarely happened) ...Despite her skill, attempts to poach her from Jeralt's Mercenaries were rare. She unnerved people with her coldness, her lack of expression, the lack of humanity. Why didn't he..._those eyes are deep and dark, mysterious as the ocean...what is it that he desires when he looks at me? I...an so unfamiliar with this. I don't know what to do. Father, help me! _

“There you are!” The loud knight's voice came to her rescue – at least for the moment. They turned to see her father and the man – Ser Alois – standing just a few feet away. “Come, it's time for us to go! I know you're likely tired, but it's better that we return to the monastery as soon as possible!”

“I doubt your attackers will come back for a second go-around,” Jeralt contributed, arms crossed, “but concerning you three, it's better safe than sorry. We're about ready to move out; if necessary, you can rest in the supply carts on the way.”

“Got it,” Claude said blithely. “Guess we'll pick this up another time.”

Byleth let out a breath and headed over to her father. He squeezed her arm, smiling sympathetically at her. It restored her equilibrium somewhat. _I can ask him on the way, surely. _

_My my, everyone is in such a hurry, _Sothis said with a yawn. _You know...each of them is most unique._

_...It's true, _Byleth acknowledged, glancing over her shoulder at the three lords. They were following behind her, talking amongst themselves again, but still clearly keeping her in their sights. _Claude...he's welcoming, yet guarded. He has not shared his true self with me, or perhaps anyone. Dimitri...everything he does, all his movements – in battle and off – are carefully controlled. He's very sincere, yet something is weighing on him. And Edelgard...she's refined, yet she looks at me the way a blacksmith regards a fine sword. Carefully judging, wondering what the price is. _

_Yes, I thought the same, _Sothis mused. _Something significant has happened here, Byleth. It means something...I must sleep on this..._

_You 'need' to sleep on bloody everything, _Byleth grumbled.

Sothis did not dignify that with a response.

* * *

Roughly two hours later, Byleth realized she had greatly underestimated Claude's tenacity, Edelgard's fascination, and Dimitri's chivalrous need to keep her included in conversation. These proved to be the longest and most confusing hours of her life so far. Her father's men weren't this interested in her. _Sothis _wasn't this interested in her! As they traveled and the sun rose, Alois had become bound and determined to keep her father talking. His jovial remarks about this and that thing that had happened in the Blade Breaker's absence filled the air without end; leaving Byleth adrift and bewildered.

Her father's men were grumbling a bit, annoyed that their guaranteed paycheck in the Kingdom was put on hold and wondering what exactly was going on with their boss. It seemed they had been as much in the dark about her father's past as she was. The Knights of Seiros occasionally gave her curious looks, but largely remained silent guards at the front and back of their impromptu caravan.

However, for the first time that she could remember, this did not mean that Byleth had been left with alone with her thoughts and Sothis's voice.

“You're trained in hand-to-hand as well?” Edelgard said, her tone somehow both impressed and skeptical. “To juggle three disciplines simultaneously is a daunting prospect. Most students at Garreg Mach are limited to two!”

“I learned sword and the bow first,” Byleth clarified, “Brawling came later, as did the lance – and I cannot say I am very proficient in the latter. It is useful to have multiple ways of approaching a fight, and being able to enter tournaments is a good way to shore up the accounts when the troupe is between jobs.”

“And Holy magic?” Claude asked slyly. “That threw me for a loop. It's so rare that anyone outside of mages and priests have any aptitude for it.”

“Is that right?” She shrugged. “I'm not sure what to say; I've always had a knack for it.”

He actually _pouted_ in response, clearly not believing that she was being honest with him. _He is such a strange lord! _Even compared to Dimitri and Edelgard, who were clearly putting effort into making her comfortable, he was casual and coarse and _nothing_ like the usual haughty or cold (cruel, heartless) men her father was occasionally contracted by. She kept finding her eyes drawn to him, to his golden skin and mysterious green eyes and friendly disposition, and feel a tug of some nameless foreign feeling. Whenever she fell out of step with him, she would speed up or slow down until they matched again. It was silly, and she couldn't explain it even to herself. Was it just because he was a handsome man? Surely not. Even as she'd grown into her body, she'd felt very little emotional or physical inclination towards intimacy.

Such things were associated with a humanity that had always been lost to her.

Yet she couldn't deny...what she could only describe as a curiosity. Why didn't that warm, welcoming smile – a look so very few people had directed at her – reach his eyes? What melancholy made him reserve himself? Perhaps it was merely meant to ensnare her..._that thought should offend or worry me, yet it doesn't_. Being troubled was not something she experienced, after all, no more than anything else. All she felt was a tugging need to know, to understand...

...To repay the strange feeling his bright smile gave her.

Which wasn't to say she wasn't curious about the others. Dimitri seemed more relaxed now; his posture less rigid, his gaze less distracted. It definitely brought out his gentler features; he looked every inch a prince, a man who valued that aspect of his being quite deeply.

That was not something Byleth saw overmuch; her job exposed her to many freaks, fools and monsters, but the times she ran into actual knights and heroes...well, the results were often memorable, for good or for ill. His fascination bewildered her, to be sure, but his earnestness was charming. It was odd to think of him as the prince of the holy kingdom within the cold north; she would have thought him aloof, chilly or even slightly hostile to a mercenary such as herself. After all, those who sold their swords to the highest bidder were not famous for upholding the sacred laws of the church.

Edelgard...her fascination was a tangible thing. Byleth wouldn't say she was discomforted...just uncertain what it _meant_. Appraising eyes had found her a few times before, and it had made her father irritable. To this day, Byleth wasn't certain why.

“Being able to heal has proven invaluable,” She insisted in the face of Claude's disbelief. “Particularly when I'm sent to retrieve hostages.” She rubbed her left arm, feeling for an old scar that ran up to her wrist.

“Have you taken many such jobs?” Dimitri asked curiously.

“Some,” Byleth nodded, her thumb idly tracing the line beneath her coat. “The first time involved slavers; pirates raiding the northern Alliance border to keep the salt mines running.” She blinked and mused, “I think that was when people started calling me by that title. Odd, in retrospect. I did not cut a very imposing figure at thirteen.”

“Wait, I heard about that...” Claude said slowly, “One of the ships drifted ashore, the mast burning and a lower deck covered in corpses. That was _you_?”

“Not wholly me,” Byleth frowned slightly, “I had infiltrated the hold, posing as a slave, to ensure they couldn't massacre the 'merchandise' before we rescued them. Father and the mercenaries dealt with those above deck.”

“They didn't take your weapons?” Edelgard inquired.

“I hid razor blades in my hair.” Byleth shrugged. “After I killed the first two, I stole a bow off a corpse and used the door to pick off the rest who approached via the hall. It was a very favorable position; most of them died before I ran out of arrows. I had to improvise a bit at that point; fortunately, the first mate was drunk, and I've always been unusually strong considering my slight frame.”

“You were so young...” Dimitri sounded faintly incredulous.

Byleth looked quizzically at him. “Do you not start weapons training at five in the Kingdom? I was a bit older than that when I began to learn from my father.”

“Well, yes...but you cannot be made a squire, or be sent to the officer's academy, before you turn fifteen. It's too dangerous, otherwise.”

“I had never thought of it that way,” She said, unsure what to parse from that remark. “Though I suppose my upbringing was not typical, even for a common born mercenary. Father was always on the move, and as a consequence so was I. I've lived in so many places they've become a blur, I've wandered the shores of Almyra and the forests of Brigid...” She looked up at the sky. “And father always worked so hard for my sake...one day, I decided I wanted to help. So I learned how to wield blades and arrows, applied myself with the whole of my concentration.” She dragged a foot lightly in the dirt, shifting gravel as they walked. “Now I fight alongside father. It never felt unnatural. It just was what it was.”

“So you've never wanted to do anything else?” Claude asked lightly. “Never wanted a break?”

Byleth tilted her head. “I'm not sure what you mean. We have lives outside of contracts and battle. My father likes to fish, Hannah cares for horses...Gustav tends to plants and feeds birds whenever possible. I've done all those things, it's...pleasant.”

“Hey kids!” Alois's voice caught their attention; the man was looking over his shoulder at them, waving at the trees ahead. “We're almost there! Lunch and other amenities await!”

A cheer went up from the mercenaries. Jeralt even let out a good-natured chuckle. Byleth was keenly aware of the fact she'd only eaten a bowlful of grapes since they set out that morning, and she accepted those words with a great sense of relief.

“This will be your first time at the monastery, right?” Dimitri asked. “I'd love to show you around, if you'd like.”

“It really is Fodlan in a nutshell,” Claude mused, “The good and the bad.”

“Like it or not, we'll be there soon,” Edelgard said mildly.

Any comment Byleth might have decided to make was swept away when they stepped free of the trees and her eyes fell upon one of the most amazing sights in the known world. Sitting upon vast, sweeping fields of grass and greenery was a sprawling and elegant castle who's many towers scraped the sky itself. Byleth was not a very verbose woman, and in that moment she was speechless with awe, stopped mid step to gaze up at the glorious building.

Sothis was right. This...this was significant, somehow. This place...

\+ _ + _ + _ + _

Things moved fairly smoothly after that. After a warm meal in the dining hall, the lords split off from them, and Byleth found herself missing their presence as she rejoined her father and waited in a large, beautifully decorated cathedral within the second floor of the massive complex.

Jeralt was worried. The stiff way he held himself and his rigid back were all but screaming his unease to to the heavens. “It's been years since I last set eyes on this place,” He admitted. “To see her again...”

“Her?” She repeated softly.

Jeralt glanced at her. “Didn't you see her in the courtyard? The lady looking down on us from the balcony? That's the archbishop. Lady Rhea.”

Now that he mentioned it... “I think so.” She frowned at him. “Who is she?”

“You know the majority of Fodlan follow the teachings of Saint Seiros, who brought word from the goddess in our darkest days.” Jeralt said by the way of explanation. A small frown crossed his face. “The leader of that ridiculously large organization is the archbishop.”

“...Are you afraid of her?” That thought made Byleth about as uneasy as she came. Her father was a fearless man. He was more powerful than anyone she'd ever met in their many travels, fighting the likes of Nader the Undefeated and coming out victorious. He only ever worried about her and her unnatural stoicism. For him to be afraid...what sort of woman were they dealing with?

Jeralt didn't get a chance to answer. The door swung open and admitted two people the likes of which Byleth had not seen before. “Thank you for your patience, Jeralt,” The man said, his voice sharp and to the point. He had dark green hair and stern green eyes several shades lighter than Claude's more natural-seeming orbs; he wore dark blue silk with gold embroidery that likely cost the same as their entire monthly budget. A handsome man, if a strange and very taciturn-looking one. “My name is Seteth. I am an adviser to the archbishop.”

“Right,” Her father murmured. Apparently, he didn't recognize the man. “Hello.”

“It has been a long time, Jeralt.” The woman said softly. Byleth's eyes riveted to her; they were the same height, yet the woman had more poise, more...softness. Her long green hair offset the significant oramentation she wore – a gold circlet, a large silk headdress, lilies...she wore primarily white and other soft colors. She looked...motherly, though what gave the young mercenary that impression, she could not say. “I wonder...was it the will of the goddess that we have another chance to meet like this.”

Byleth did not remember the mother who died giving birth to her. Her father had no pictures, and it pained him to speak of those days. Perhaps that was compelled her to pad forward a few steps, remove herself from her usual haunt in her father's shadow so she might be seen.

“Forgive my silence all these years,” Jeralt said, bowing deeply. “Much has happened since we last spoke.”

“So I see,” Lady Rhea said lightly, her gaze moving to Byleth. “The miracle of fatherhood has blessed you. This is your child, is she not?”

“Yes. Born many years after I left this place. I wish I could introduce you to her mother, but...we lost her to illness.”

Byleth blinked once, twice, and resisted the urge to give her father a strange look. That was different from what he'd told her...

“I see. My condolences,” The archbishop said, her voice soft and soothing. Her attention didn't move, however. “As for you...I heard of your valiant efforts from Alois. What is your name?”

Byleth swallowed lightly, and wondered if her mother had looked like Rhea. “I am Byleth,” She said, bowing her head.

“A fine name indeed,” Lady Rhea murmured. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for saving those students of the officer's academy.” Her father sighed. Byleth discreetly elbowed him, quietly impressed that _he _needed reminders of politeness after all the grief he'd given Gustav over the years. Rhea must have seen it, though, because her smile grew visibly. “Jeralt. You already know what it is I wish to say, don't you?”

“You want me to rejoin the knights of Seiros,” Jeralt ran a hand through his hair. “I'm not saying no, but...”

“Your apprehension stings,” Lady Rhea said gently. “I had expected Alois had already asked this of you.”

“He did,” Byleth noted. “Loudly. Many times.” Jeralt ran his hand down his face and gave her a rueful look. She flushed and clasped her wrist with one hand, averting her eyes.

“I must step away now,” The Archbishop said. Byleth felt a funny warmth in her chest at the clear amusement dancing in the stately woman's eyes. “but I expect they will desire a word with you soon. Please listen carefully to what they have to say. Until tomorrow...farewell.” Giving Byleth one last smile, she and Seteth departed.

Byleth rocked on her heels, bringing both her hands up to her chest. This day was strange, strange, strange. She hadn't felt so, well, _lively _for lack of a better word, in a long time – only some scattered days in her childhood could compare to the number of feelings she'd experienced ever since the morning...

_Look at you, _Sothis thought in amusement. _Bouncing like a child with sweets. Enjoying all the attention you're getting? _

_Mean, _she fired back without heat. _It is...nice...to not be looked at with unease, suspicion and fear. Don't you understand? You are with me, after all. _

“C'mon, kid.” Jeralt said before Sothis could retort. She turned to him; he was trying to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “I'll show you the room they've set up for you, and where the bath house is. Then you can eat and rest. It's been a long day.”

“Okay,” She said softly, deciding not to prod him right now.

He always explained things to her eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, Byleth is a bit tricky to write in the sense that, while she is emotionless to a fault at the beginning, the game implies that's a magically enforced side effect of the crest stone replacing her heart. My best guess is that Byleth always had feelings, but they were extremely muted and never came to the surface - so everyone just assumed she literally could not feel anything. When Sothis fully awoke, the magic began to fade, so Byleth's feelings began coming out more naturally - helped by being surrounded by lovable students and charming house leaders :) 
> 
> Anyhow, that's the last protagonist introduced; now the story can really start!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has trouble sleeping, even as he prepares to fight the mock battle.

_you promised me son you promised to avenge us_

Dimitri woke violently in the middle of the night, the sweat soaking his skin causing him to shiver. A whiff of smoke burned at the back of his throat along with a lingering piercing scream; yet aside from the roaring wind, the upper dormitories were as silent as a crypt. “I will, I will,” He whispered pleadingly, “I haven't forgotten, I just need more time...” He heard his father scoff and squeezed his eyes shut. “I swear, it will be done, I will find them!”

The words echoed through his spartan room, with nothing but the wind to answer him. Dimitri drew his legs up to his chest and pressed his forehead against his knee, gulping for air as he tried to remember how to breath. Tried to forget the weight of Glenn's corpse, pinning him to the ground even as it saved him from the arrows falling from the sky. Tried to forget his father's dying shrieks. Tried to forget the stench of flesh burning throughout the chaos.

_Don't ever forget me Dimitri_

“How could I?” Dimitri uttered, raking one hand through his hair. “Glenn, how could you believe I would?”

A dryly amused chuckle, a sound Glenn had always reserved for Felix when his little brother dramatically failed to understand something he was driving at, was his only answer.

Suddenly his room was suffocatingly small; the walls pressed in and the shadows were malevolent, living things. Dimitri got up and fumbled in the dark, grabbing the long coat he usually reserved for Faerghus's cold winters of the wall. It didn't matter that it was late summer; he was cold and couldn't stop trembling. Sliding the familiar fur on over his clothes – he'd trained late into the evening and forgotten to change before collapsing on his bed, all in a vain attempt to avoid these very dreams – he grabbed the door handle and walked out into the dark halls.

It was a cool night, with a soft breeze echoing off the stone as he wandered from hall to hall, not really knowing where he was going. Torches snapped and crackled as he passed, one hand trailing along the wall. The physical sensation was comforting, an anchor in the present.

He kept walking, his uneven breathing echoing in his ears. At first he thought he would go to the library – unlike the training grounds, its doors weren't locked after the sun went down – but instead he found himself taking a winding path down to the stables. One of the monastery cats wandered over to him as he stepped out into the open air, winding between his legs. Hesitantly he knelt and petted it; the orange tabby rolled over in contentment.

Animals were good companions when you couldn't bear to speak to anyone. Dimitri had learned that in the days after the Tragedy; holed up in his room, frequently slipping into delirium with flames blazing every time he closed his eyes. The castle cats had been his saviors then – whenever they didn't surprise him by jumping down from shelves, that is.

Dimitri scratched the cat behind the ears, the hard knot in his chest loosening just a bit at the resultant rumbling purr. “Good girl.” He straightened up and looked up at the sky.

It was a brilliant clear night; the silver cross – a thick stream of stars that formed a visible interconnected pattern across all the land – glittering like precious jewels. _What was that story Dedue told me?, _Dimitri wondered as he gazed upwards. _It was something about Duscar's sky god and his last visit to the mortal lands...there was a woman there, one he loved. Was she murdered, or did she willingly walk to her death? Either way...the cross is her blood, raised up and formed into a great and powerful gateway; the final barrier between heaven and earth. How _did _that tale go? I can't believe I've forgotten...I'll have to ask him to tell me again..._

There was something in the scriptures of the Goddess about the silver cross, but it seemed a more mundane tale; a gift fashioned by Sothis for a particularly devout priestess after the deaths of her entire family. Strings of silver gems, hung from the gates of heaven, so all could look up and see their loved ones in the sky.

A simple story, one many found comforting. Perhaps it was unworthy of him as the holy prince that he felt afraid instead.

The cat let out a small whine and headbutted his leg. Dimitri gave it a final pet and walked out of the main monastery. _Perhaps animals are wiser than we like to believe. _Ever since his...troubles had emerged, he'd quickly taught himself to hide it, to be stoic or merely frustrated when inside he was screaming. Only Felix has seen under the mask; he lamented that, missed their old friendship...but perhaps it was good that someone knew of that dark, swirling undercurrent.

It meant there was someone who could stop him if he lost himself.

He shuddered. Why was it so _cold_? It was still summer... He pulled his coat tighter and focused on walking. The stone ground turned into sand and gravel as he walked into the stables.

That was when he noticed the person singing.

For a moment, he thought it was another lingering memory – his stepmother had loved to sing, and her lullabies frequently haunted him in the nights when sleep was evasive or disturbed. But...no. He didn't know this voice very well. This was... He turned, casting his eyes around in the dim light, looking for the source. They weren't here...but they were close by...? Hesitantly, he turned and tried to follow it. After a few false starts, he found himself walking down the overcast path past the Knight's Hall. The words grew clearer and more distinct as he went, a beautiful and achingly melancholic tune he'd never heard before...

He turned the corner near the church cemetery and his breath caught in his throat.

Byleth – _Professor _Byleth, he reminded himself quickly; even if she wasn't teaching homeroom for him and his, she would still lead seminars and auxiliary combat and it wouldn't do to address her otherwise – was standing at the stone railing with her back to him, singing to the night sky. She wore a long black dress that hung down to her ankles, sleeveless and backless that hung loosely off her body. She was barefoot and seemingly untroubled by the wind and stones in the ground; she sang softly, gently, with a little hesitation here and there suggesting she wasn't certain she remembered the notes correctly.

_She's **beautiful**. I had noticed before, but... _he thought dazedly, before quickly chasing that errant teenage thought down and throttling it. _What is she doing up so late...?_

Quietly he made his way over to her, carefully, not wanting to interrupt the song. He'd never heard it before, pure and simple notes of joy mixed with grief and longing...what were the words meant to go with it?

The song tapered off suddenly; Byleth twisted and looked over her shoulder, tense. “Who's there?”

“I'm sorry,” He responded, abashed, as he stepped into the torchlight. She shifted in what he thought might be surprise, before visibly relaxing. “I didn't mean to intrude.”

“Prince Dimitri?” She frowned slightly. “What are you doing awake so late? So early, to be truthful. The sun will be up in a scant few hours.”

“I...some old thoughts were troubling me. When I couldn't get back to sleep, I decided to try and walk it off.” His eyes lingered on her bare shoulders for a few seconds too long before he could pull his attention away, face burning. “I wasn't expecting to see anyone.”

Byleth titled her head and gazed curiously at him for a moment. “I felt confused too,” She admitted, her tone soft and even as ever. “I keep waking, as if my mind can't decide which world is the dream.” She looked up at the sky, tugging unconsciously at the neckline of her dress. “It's strange. I'm so rarely sleepless, even on the worse days.”

“Truly?”

Byleth blinked. “Well...yes.” She let out a huffed breath. “It must be this place. It's strange.”

“Are you not cold?” He asked nervously; she'd heard him walking up behind her, surely she'd noticed his wandering gaze. Ingrid was very aware of the way people looked at her...Glenn had always been openly appreciative of his fiance, mind you, so perhaps she'd simply learned to recognize that look in people's eyes.

“Hm? Oh no. I think it's rather pleasant, actually.” Her expression didn't change one iota. Did she just want to watch him squirm? _Perhaps that was fair enough. _“...I didn't mean to wander this far from my room. I had a strange thought in my head...but once I got here, I lost it.” She frowned, looking down the stairwell toward the cemetery, the stone monuments casting long shadows over the grass. “I suppose it must not have been important...”

He wasn't sure what to say to that. “I'd never heard that song before. Do you know what it's called?”

She bit her lip lightly. “I don't, actually. I'm not sure where I heard it, or what the words are. It's an old memory of mine...someone sang it to me. I don't know who, or when it happened, or if it's even real...but I find it comforting.”

“It's very soothing,” He said softly.

She looked at him again, very intently, and asked, “I can sing it again, if it would help you. You look haggard, your highness.”

Dimitri's breath hitched. “That's very kind of you,” He said softly. “And – you don't have to call me by my title in this place. Here, I'm nothing but another student.”

Byleth blinked twice, and he thought he saw the faintest trace of a surprised smile if only for a moment. “Alright,” She said, a note of warmth in her voice. Then she took a few deep breaths, and began to sing again. Dimitri closed his eyes, placing one hand on the ledge and leaning his weight on it as the sweet, sad tune filled his entire world. He missed his stepmother, moreso than usual in that moment; he remembered how he crawled to her as a child, shivering from nightmares, and she would hold him in his arms and hum until he fell asleep. He didn't remember his birth mother; whenever he tried to picture the woman, he saw Patricia instead.

She would laugh if she could see him now; flustered by his barely-older professor. Her gently amused smile while watching him give the dagger to Edelgard stuck with him, after all.

Byleth had a pretty voice. Annette would be delighted if she could hear her sing.

“I don't know what's troubling you,” The professor murmured after she wound the song to a close, “but I hope you can put it to rest someday. It's casting a shadow over your face.”

“..Is it that obvious?” He whispered without opening his eyes. His shoulders had slumped, the tension gone out of them, and it no longer pained him to breathe. He wondered if Ser Jeralt would recognize the music if asked.

“Not obvious. Not quite. But I've seen a lot of people with haunted eyes.” He hears her move slightly. “After all, I am the Ashen Demon. Sometimes I'm the cause of it.” ...She...sounded sad...? “We should go back and try to sleep. The Mock Battle will need all our concentration, after all.”

Dimitri wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come to him. “Perhaps I more than you,” He said with a rueful chuckle. “Claude looked as pleased as a particularly content cat at dinner yesterday, and I have no doubts as to why.”

She let out a startled giggle. “He is _strange_,” She said in a rush. “He's a mysterious man, and I think that I should be a bit wary of him but I'm not. Not at all. I chose his house almost in spite of myself; I don't understand it at all.”

“Claude von Riegan is a charismatic nuisance, and if you told me he charmed the goddess Herself into transforming the Valley of Torment into rich farmland, _I would believe you._” Dimitri said dryly, opening his eyes to see her vexed expression. He could only smile sympathetically in response. “But he is a good man, if a lonely one. You don't have anything to fear from him.”

She blinked. “Lonely? That...is not a word I would have used.”

“Ah, I shouldn't have said that,” Dimitri groaned sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. Unbidden, Claude's teasing words suggesting he do something with 'those unruly locks' echoed in his mind, and he suddenly flushed a bit. _A nuisance indeed! _“If and when you start to understand him better, it'll make sense.”

“I see. ...I suppose...I thought it was because I disturb people; I always have. That old fear, the reason he couldn't quite smile honestly at me.”

“That...is not my story to tell,” Dimitri said with a sigh, a tinge of pity and sadness sweeping through him as he remembered that hateful soldier and his ugly words. “But I doubt it had much to do with you yourself. He's fascinated by you.”

“That much I can tell,” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, that vexed look deepening. “I don't understand it, but I can tell.”

“Why does that confuse you so?”

“Because people other than my father do not look at me like that.” She looked away. “I am not completely oblivious, despite my disposition. I've heard frightened people compare me to a gargoyle ever since I was a child. I don't react to pain or fear the way most humans do. That coldness lingers around me like a veil I don't know how to remove. Sometimes I wonder if there's anything under it to reveal by doing so.”

She shook here head in disbelief. “Then here comes this boy – this duke – and he drags me all over the monastery, showing me things, teasing me over that stoicism, laughing and joking like there is nothing strange about me at all. So yes, I am most vexed, Dimitri. I can't really help it.”

There was a small spark of guilt in his chest. He'd had those very thoughts, watching her carve through bandits without a single change of expression; as though killing meant nothing to her. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, he has that effect on many people.”

She gave him a look that contained that tiny almost-smile again. “Heh...maybe it does.”

Dimitri chuckled a bit, enjoying their mutual bewilderment over the brunette, and then offered her his hand. “Shall I bring you back to your dorm, Professor? It's quite dark; it may be good to have another set of eyes about.”

Byleth blinked twice at him before accepting the gesture. Her fingers were slender and strangely delicate, her skin calloused from many years of wielding weapons. It amazed him that she wasn't a little chilly despite being so lightly dressed. “Thank you.”

They didn't say much as they retraced her steps back to the lower dormitories; Byleth took to humming again while Dimitri listened. She knew a lot of music, it seemed, though they all sounded mysterious to his ears. Likely she'd heard them outside of Fodlan; she had made mention of Jeralt's mercenaries travelling outside the borders before. Dimitri had never traveled so far, though he wished to, despite all that was tied up with Duscar. The night air swirled around them as they crossed the courtyard, the grass soft underfoot.

Byleth stopped at the foot of the stairwell to the dormitory, gently pulling her hand free. She turned back toward him, her eyes a bit brighter than he recalled yesterday, and said, “I hope your rest is peaceful, Dimitri.”

He smiled weakly and bowed, as he always did when people said such things. He appreciated the sentiment but suspected it was in vain.

\+ _ + _ + _ + _

When the sun bled golden light into his room some indeterminate amount of time later, Dimitri only felt _partly_ like a corpse. Which was better than some other nights when he'd been rendered unable to sleep, but not exactly ideal with the mock battle looming mere hours ahead. Staggering out of bed and into a bath, he splashed hot water in his face repeatedly as he began to consider potential strategies. He had some practical experience, but none of his fellow Lions did, and Byleth was an intimidating opponent – even with Hannamen's support, Dimitri did not like his chances against her. The best he could think of was distracting her from Dedue, who could potentially overwhelm her through sheer physical strength. However, Byleth had vaguely referenced being stronger than one would expect from her frame, so he was uncertain that would pan out as he hoped...

And, of course, he had to consider Claude. Dimitri knew little enough about Almyra, but their love of war and strength was a well-told story. It was entirely possible that his fellow house leader knew his way around a fight as much as he himself did – perhaps moreso, seeing as Claude managed to kill the man pinning him during the ambush and save him from being choked to death. Fortunately, the other teen preferred the bow, so as long as Dimitri could get close enough, he was confident he could take him out.

Admittedly that didn't account for the other Deer who would be joining them...and he didn't know any of them particularly well. Marianne and Lysithea were magically adept with the former likely specializing in the magic of Faith, Raphael was very physically strong and bulky, Ignatz was likely an archer given his constitution, Lorenz and Leonie he had seen handle lances from time to time, and Hilda...he'd never seen her in the barracks, so he wasn't sure what she did. If she didn't weasel her way out of the battle completely. Not all the students in house participated in the mock battle, since it was merely a warm-up for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, so he could only make an educated guess who Claude would bring with him. _Likely he'd choose at least one mage and someone strong enough to shrug off weaker attacks. He can cover distance attacks himself, unlike me. So...Raphael, Lorenz or Leonie and either Marianne or Lysithea. _

_Edelgard will bring Hubert, no question about that. Other than him...I'd be surprised if she chose Ferdinand given how much she obviously dislikes him, but he is capable with a lance. I've hardly ever seen Bernadetta out of her room, so I doubt she'll come...and Dorothea is another obvious choice for a ranged attacker. Petra is also a possibility for a front line attacker, though she's lighter and comparatively frailer than Ferdinand. So...expect Hubert, Dorothea, and either Ferdinand or Petra. _

The warm water was a blessing. He didn't know what witchcraft had gone into the water system of the monastery, but he would pay good money for the secret.

_I should bring Mercedes, _Dimitri thought after a moment of contemplation. _She knows basic healing and she'd likely have more of an effect on Raphael than any blunt hit. _ He tapped the edge of the tub. _Dedue, I need for the professor and possibly Edelgard as well. Ashe can provide long range cover; even if he isn't very strong quite yet, he doesn't need to be. Between them, myself and Hannamen...we are prepared. _

_Felix will be cross at being left out, but he simply isn't good at defending himself. The professor would outmaneuver him and drop him on his back without too much effort. Ingrid is still building up her physical strength, and Annette may be slightly more adept than Mercedes, but she hasn't trained in Faith. Healing is very important on the battlefield...especially since we're restricted to a single vulnerary each. _

Brushing his wet hair away from his eyes, the prince let out a long breath and crawled out. _Ah, my head still aches...well, it's not as bad as it could have been. _He was largely rejuvenated, as a matter of fact. That made this one of his better days.

He got dressed in his usual dark leathers with some care until he found himself staring at his reflection the mirror. As usual, his hair was a rumpled mess. _Only you can spend an hour in the bath and still look disheveled, _Glenn's old joke haunted him. ..._you'd get a lot more attention yourself... _another voice said in a low purr.

On a whim (surely that's all it was), he took the hairpins Annette had given him a little while back and pulled his blonde locks away from his eyes, pinning them back behind his head. The low ponytail emphasized his angular face, and would keep his vision clear during battle. Giving himself a bemused smile, he turned and left the room, heading for the officer's academy.

It was a brilliant clear day; the sun shone like a golden shield in the clear sky, there was a mild breeze and it was warm without being sweltering. He made his way across the fields, vaguely hoping that some tea before the battle would drive his familiar-feeling headache away. Sleep deprivation was an old friend, and even if he was numb to the small aches and pains it gave him, that didn't mean they weren't distracting.

Dimitri pushed the double doors to the Blue Lion's classroom open and was pleasantly surprised to find all his fellow students milling about, waiting for him. He had been certain he would have to chase down Sylvain at least. Annette and Mercedes were sitting together hunched over a book, having an animated discussion. Ingrid was trying to tell Felix something he clearly wasn't very interested in while Sylvain tried to flirt with her, Ashe was studying, and Dedue was standing off to the side – likely having been debating whether or not to go get him.

“Good morning, everyone,” He said.

“Oh, Dimitri! There you are,” Annette said cheerfully, looking up. Then her eyes widened. “Y-Yooou look different! I mean, it's nice, it's nice, I just – um, when did that happen?”

“This morning,” Dimitri replied, slightly bewildered.

Mercedes giggled lightly. “Is that so? It's a good look on you. Who recommended it?”

“Ah...I couldn't say?” The prince had no idea what to make of the way Annette and Ingrid were both gaping at him – or Sylvain's curious expression, for that matter! Clearing his throat awkwardly, he went on, “The Mock Battle takes place after lunch; let's discuss strategy a bit, shall we?”

“C'mon, you're not getting off the hook that easily.” Sylvain responded with a very irritating and worrying smile, making his way over from the shelves. “You've never done anything about your hair before, no matter how many times I nagged you. Do you have a date? Looking to impress someone?”

“No, of course not!” Dimitri said while gave the skirt chaser an intensely exasperated look. “It's hardly important right now. I've largely decided on our team for the battle, but I want to know what the rest of you are expecting.”

“The new professor is the biggest threat,” Felix pronounced evenly. “She has to be taken out for victory to be possible.”

“Is she really that strong?” Ingrid wondered. “I met her yesterday when Claude was dragging her all over the monastery. I know you said she's skilled, your highness...but she just seemed kind of awkward and strange to me.”

“What do you mean?” Ashe said in surprise. “I spoke to her, and she very polite. A bit quiet, but kind. It's hard to believe people call her by that creepy name...”

“I assure you, Ingrid, she's exactly as dangerous as Felix believes,” Dimitri responded wryly. “However, we cannot completely discount Claude and his fellow students. With that in mind...”

Sure enough, Felix scowled when he announced his choice of fighters for the battle, arguing vehemently for a few minutes before finally giving up. Mercedes suggested – somewhat to his surprise – that Claude would in fact bring Hilda with him, despite her layabout tendencies, because she was quite good with an ax. Dedue believed that Marianne and Dorothea would both make appearances; he also agreed to help Dimitri attempt to subdue Byleth. Sylvain expressed the opinion that Edelgard would sooner wait for them to exhaust themselves fighting the Deer before moving in to clean up, while Annette argued that the future empress would charge first because she disliked leaving things to chance. Ashe nervously offered to take out Hubert and Marianne/Lysithea, given his decent ability to resist magic. Suggestions flew thick in the air on who would go on the offensive first, how they should adjust depending on the circumstances, what the terrain would be like...Dimitri quickly found himself thinking that he was lucky to be surrounded by intelligent people willing to argue with him.

“Should I bring a bow, Dimitri?” Mercedes asked sweetly. “I'm not very good with it yet, but it will give me another option to attack.”

“It couldn't hurt,” Dimitri agreed. Using too much magic in a short space of time was known to stress even experienced mages out, after all.

Poor Ashe looked so anxious when he was definitively told that he'd be close to the action. Dedue asked extensive questions about how Byleth fought and what his liege would recommend. It wasn't much, and Mercedes looked fairly intimidated when Dimitri talked about how the professor cut down two bandits one after another without breaking stride.

“It'll be a good fight, boar,” Felix snorted, that slightly resentful look remaining. “If you can take her.”

Dimitri made himself smile in return. “I'm sure you'll find her lingering in the training grounds before long, Felix. The year has only just begun after all.” He clapped his hands together. “We've prepared as much as possible, I think. Come, let us go to the dining hall and eat before we depart for the field.”

His classmates nodded collectively and followed him out of the room.

\+ _ + _ + _ + _

The field chosen for the battle wasn't far from the monastery. It was a forested area, gently rolling hills dotted with trees and bushes. Dimitri took a deep breath, his brain buzzing with anticipation. There was no real high ground, only a few ruins one person could use as decent cover. No advantages, unless one was good at exploiting terrain. _I had only ever fought with a city before, discounting that bandit ambush. _Atop the hill north of the field – the highest vantage point available – stood Seteth and Ser Jeralt, there to oversee the match. The archbishop herself was absent; apparently, something important was demanding her attention.

Dimitri shifted his grip on the lance he'd been given and grimaced at its lightness. They'd all been given blunted training versions of their favored weapons to avoid series injuries; live steel wasn't used outside of the Battle of Eagle and Lion. A good idea, yes, but the difference between this and his usual lance was just noticeable enough to be off-putting.

Edelgard and the Black Eagles were to his far left, with Ferdinand and Hubert out front while Dorothea lingered amidst the trees with her house leader. Manuela stood a bit further back, perched atop what might have been the base of a monument long ago (it was hard to tell). About what he expected, though with the branches and bushes in the way it would be hard to approach his step-sister on anything but her terms. That was how she'd always preferred it...

The Golden Deer, meanwhile, were out in the open, due south of his position. Claude looked to be conferring with Byleth, gesturing up the plain. The professor was too far away to read what minute expression she had, but he got the impression she was disputing whatever the archer was saying. With them were Hilda, Raphael, and Marianne, the latter of whom was fidgeting quite visibly. It reminded Dimitri a bit of Bernadetta. Perhaps Claude would have been better served to bring Lysithea...

It looked like Byleth was restricted to one weapon, or perhaps had chosen to go without her bow for one reason or another. That was a bit of a relief, actually. Now, if he could only lure her toward Dedue...he'd need to catch her off guard, and he'd need the other deer to be preoccupied.

Perhaps he should wait it out while Edelgard fought them? He disliked the thought. It was dishonorable.

Byleth pointed at something. He wasn't sure, given the angle through which he could see her. Interestingly, though, Claude jolted back a few steps. He waved his hands slightly. Byleth nodded, the gesture brisk and sharp. The archer looked up at the plain, chuckled, and bowed his head in submission. Both Raphael and Hilda twisted to stare at their leader, who clapped and repeated whatever the professor had said to him.

“Oh dear,” Mercedes murmured. “What are they saying, Dimitri?”

“They're too far away to tell,” He replied apologetically. “Be prepared for anything.”

“Of course, your highness,” Dedue said stoically. Ashe made a noise of agreement that couldn't quite hide his trepidation.

Then the starting horn blared.

Dimitri's pulse jumped.

“Ashe, I need you on the front lines. Stay close to the woods! Dedue, Mercedes...get ready!” He hit his lance against the ground and readied it. A surge of excitement washed over him. _Professor, Claude, Edelgard...show me what you can do. Makes this a challenge!_

The Golden Deer scattered in both directions. Ferdinand was charging Raphael, Hubert lingering just behind him. Dimitri's brow furrowed. He'd thought Edelgard would play more defensively, that's why she's chosen the trees...Ah, but Ferdinand was quite bent on showing her up, wasn't he? He was loudmouthed enough about it the few times they'd crossed paths. _She should have brought Petra in his place. _

There was a flare of bright light – Nosferatu, unless he missed his guess – and Ferdinand staggered backward. Raphael then slugged him into the chest, once, twice, and then finished him off with a kick that sent him sprawling onto his back in the grass.

_That was a mistake. He left himself open to Hubert – wait..._

The flicker of an arrow whisking through the air struck the dark mage. Dimitri strained, trying to see Claude – he must have retreated into the forest – then watched as a black clad figure hurtled across the ground and slammed the flat of her training sword into his stomach. _Was that Wrath Strike? _There were certain techniques one could use if you had even the slightest affinity for magic; he knew at least one himself and it wasn't a surprise to see her use it.

Hubert staggered backwards, clutching his stomach. There was a flash of pink hair before Hilda put him in an armbar and forced him to his knees. Hubert struggled for a moment before Seteth shouted for the students to know when they were beaten; then he slumped, clearly furious with himself for being tricked by Raphael's apparent vulnerability.

_To use one of their own as a feint...in a pitched battle, that would put him in severe danger. Especially if he has low resistance, given how Marianne is fussing over the burn Hubert gave him. Claude, what are you thinking? _

Marianne shrieked in surprised pain as Ashe's arrow struck home. Raphael jolted and immediately threw himself in front of her, cradling her so anything that followed up would have to strike through him to reach her. Byleth whirled on the spot and hurtled toward the Ashe's position without a moment's pause.

“Your highness, wait,” Dedue's warning made him realize his feet had carried him forward instinctively. “Claude will snipe you before you reach him.”

Ashe's pained yelp made him flinch. “I sent him too far ahead,” He groaned.

“An easy mistake to make,” Hannamen rumbled from somewhere behind him. “Usually in this battle the students spread out in an attempt to take out as many opponents as possible. It was frugal of them to stick closer to each other, clearly.”

Claude's distinctive golden form appeared from the trees. Ashe stumbled out a moment later; it was too distant to tell, but it looked like the boy gave him an apologetic grimace before leaving the field. Dimitri silently promised to make it up to the young man later on.

Byleth stepped out into the light and began walking directly up the pathway between where Edelgard was holed up and the place the Blue Lions were waiting for them. Her students promptly fell in a loose circle around her, holding their weapons out in an open challenge.

_Is she serious?_

Some small part of his brain told him that it was too easy, that any of the dozens of thoughts that crossed his mind in that moment would already have been raised by Claude (his schemes were more than just absurd pranks, he'd proven that in the ambush), that he should wait and maintain his position. Of course with Edelgard appearing from the side along with Dorothea – well, with half the team occupied, this was as good a chance as any to try and remove the professor from the field.

He nodded sharply at Dedue and surged forward.

The fight was not an easy one to enter. Claude shot Dorothea with two arrows in the stomach, taking the heat off of Raphael who needed to clear a few feet of distance before he could seize the slender mage. Hilda covered her house leader from Edelgard, who brought her ax down in a powerful arc that made the pink haired girl's arms buckle when she blocked it – barely stopping a nasty blow to the shoulder. Marianne took that chance to fire another Nosferatu at his stepsister while she was caught in blade-lock; El flinched, but held her ground rather better than Ferdinand. She was aware of Byleth approaching her, quick as the wind, but she couldn't quite prepare, not when Hilda broke the impass and took a swipe at her.

Byleth darted around her and struck the future empress harshly from behind with the hilt of her sword; avoiding her spine, of course, but the blow was anything but pleasant given Edelgard's pained shout. She followed it up with a kick, sending El sprawling to the ground.

His stepsister rolled over with some effort, throwing her spare weapon – an ax – at Hilda. That struck home, causing the pinkette to stagger.

Despite that distraction, Byleth either saw him coming out of the corner of her eye or heard some tell, because she turned around just as he closed in on her. Mercedes and Dedue were right behind him; Mercedes took a potshot at Marianne that clearly hit on a bruise Ashe had left her earlier, because she collapsed back against a tree trunk. Claude swore and rushed to cover her; and with Hilda distracted by a flagging but ever determined Edelgard...

He swung his lance up, just missing her shoulder. She jerked aside and stumbled when she hit Dedue's back; the tall man immediately trapped her arms at her side in his stone grip.

Byelth gasped out something distinctly unfriendly-sounding in what was either an Almyran or Dadga dialect, and jerked her head back. The impact against Dedue's face was painful-looking; the unfortunate fact of the matter was the professor's unusual height made her one of the few who could say they could do so. He held firm, though.

Unfortunately, just as he raised his lance to try and take the young mercenary out, something hard and painful hit his back. Dimitri staggered and looked over his shoulder and found Claude several feet away, already lining up another arrow. He swore the brunette smirked triumphantly before letting loose.

Dull-headed arrows weren't nearly as painful as the real thing – but getting hit in the stomach, no matter what with, was often entirely debilitating. He heard Marianne shout, followed by Dedue grunting in pain. Coming to the realization that he was surrounded, Dimitri shifted his grip on the lance and threw it directly at his opponent. The split second of Claude's eyes widening in surprise before the impact – which knocked him back into a tree – was well worth it.

Something hit his shin, unbalancing him so the follow-up attack sent him crashing to the ground. A moment later, a knee pressed against his chest and Dimitri blinked blearily up at the bruised and faintly impressed face of Byleth Eisner. She was panting slightly as she placed the blunt blade of the training sword across his neck, uttering, “Not bad. But not enough.”

When had she...? Ah, Marianne. Dimitri looked slightly to the right and saw the blue-haired girl frantically apologizing to a prone Dedue as Raphael helped the Duscur native back to his feet. Mercedes was leaning heavily against a rock, a bruise visible at her collar. El and Dorothea were both gone, clearly having already lost.

Letting out a shaky breath (he was fairly certain he was winded), Dimitri opened his hands in surrender. Byleth nodded and stood up, thankfully removing her weight from his aching body. “Claude, how are you holding up?”

“Haha...ow,” The brunette laughed before coughing painfully, “I'm good, really. Just, ah, need a minute...”

“Marianne, do your best for him. Raphael, with me. Hilda, Claude, keep an eye out for Manuela, she's on the move.” With that, Byleth walked out of the area, rubbing her side with a thoughtful sort of discomfort. Raphael hurried after her an awkward gait.

_See something you like?, _Glenn's voice asked mirthfully. Dimitri closed his eyes and carefully sat up, his stomach still roiling. _Perhaps you ought to learn a bit from Claude, if you're going to charge every trap you come across. _

_Riegan's plan was harebrained; _His father mused. _Engaging both opponents shouldn't have worked, yet he defeated two forces with half the numbers. He made best use of his fellow student's capabilities. Remember this well, Dimitri, for the days when you face overwhelming opposition._

_I will, _he assured them, catching his breath. It was odd, he should be disappointed...he was, to an extent...but he felt oddly excited as well. _At the Battle of Eagle and Lion, I'll be ready for them both. _

_Now _that_ would be something to see, _Glenn purred. _Just don't forget why you're here, my prince._

_Never, _Dimitri promised silently. _I will find your killers...I'll find them if I have to tear Fodlan apart._

_Good_, his father replied, the tone of his voice calm, soothing and pleased. _Good..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, writing the mock battle gave me trouble. My preferred method of beating the mock battle is to lure Edelgard/Claude our of the woods that give them stupidly high evasion by travelling up the pathway and engaging both houses at once. (I really don't like fighting Claude when I play Blue Lions, it makes me feel so bad). Figuring out how to pace that took some time; I hope it came out alright.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude hunts for clues and gets to know his professor a little bit better.

“_...the final push into Duscur is to be lead by Rufus, the late king's brother. He has been convinced to take up stewardship of the kingdom in his nephew's stead by the court...”_

“Who was previously disqualified from the line of succession for not having a crest.” Claude mused. “There's no other reason the eldest son wouldn't inherit the throne barring an untimely death or committing murder. Isn't that interesting?” He folded the letter carefully and placed it back inside the drawer. It was good for him that Seteth kept his office so orderly; it meant chasing specific older documents wasn't much of a challenge.

Nah, the challenge had been getting that stuffy bishop tipsy enough to swipe his keys. How paranoid did you have to be for your desk to have individual locks on every single drawer?

_It feels too easy, though_, He frowned, thumbing through the church militia's reports throughout the aftermath of the massacre. _If there are any rumors about Rufus attacking or otherwise trying to undermine his brother, they're well-hidden. Of course, he's a bit more important than Miklan Gautier; if there _were_ murder attempts, the kingdom wouldn't want them to become public. _

His fingers brushed against records of the Faerghus emergency meetings that the church mediated; he quickly took it and pulled one out.

_My grandfather said that King Lambert was attempting a major political reform. Reading all of this...even _that _feels like an understatement. Open trade? Bringing Duscur warriors and scholars into his court? Talking about sending Dimitri and the Fraldarius boys to foreign land to learn the traditional fighting style? I'm amazed only a third of these letters are peppered with disparaging remarks about his 'heretical worldviews'. _

He rather hoped that no one had said such things to Dimitri's face. A feeble thought, likely, but it was there.

_It's a wonder anyone believes Duscur is responsible. They're a third the size of the Kingdom, and they have bountiful land but little else. They had far too much to gain from King Lambert's offer to do anything but accept; they don't have that old Almyran 'warrior's pride' getting in the way. _

_Of course, that means the real question is 'who in the kingdom benefits the most from the slaughter of the royal family'? _

Claude squinted at the transcript in the low candlelight; the late hour meant there was no sunlight coming through the window. A description of anarchy in the eastern half of the kingdom, talk of how the knights needed to be reorganized to suppress it...and that was left to the lord of Arianrhod, who'd frequently made no bones of his dislike for Lambert's 'naivety'. Yet he was _not_ one of the three lords who made a lot of loud noise about how Dimitri needed to get married as soon as possible to 'secure the line of succession'; one of whom was aggressive enough that he had his eldest daughter try and slip the prince a knockout drug so she could get pregnant. Claude's lip curled in revulsion. _That's disgusting. Seventh hell, he was fourteen! His father hadn't even been dead for two months at that point! _

Fortunately, Lord Rodrigue was there when Dimitri passed out and interrogated the girl; having been pressured into it, she broke pretty easily and her father lost his title as a result. _Good riddance._ _So he's not a concern anymore... He could have been involved with Duscar, even tangentially, but I doubt he was smart enough to mastermind it. Not with that mess in mind. _

_Count Rowe of Arianrhod is a better bet. He's sitting on top of one of the most fortified cities in Fodlan, next to Fort Merceus. If he got caught, he could try to wait out any retaliation, and he has many 'friends' who want to be able to run there if they got invaded. There's no obvious route to the throne for him, of course, lacking both the crest and any close relation...but if he was involved with the mastermind, he might believe his children have a chance at it. Let's see if your name comes up again..._

Distant footsteps in the hallway caught his attention. Quickly he shut the drawer and folded himself into the shadow behind one of the room's bookcases; listening intently.

“...only three glasses in and he needed to be helped to Manuela?” Sir Jeralt's voice echoed through the empty hall. “Sheesh. I know some people have a low constitution, but only three?”

“That's Seteth for you!” Alois laughed. “I'll tell you what's amazing; that the Riegan boy convinced him to drink anything! He avoids anything 'improper'; partly because of Flayn, I'd wager. He dotes on her and doesn't want her to have any bad habits. It must have been years since he drunk anything, if it just took three to leave him lurching about!”

_Three glasses of the strongest wine in the monastery isn't quite the same as the stuff they serve in your average Fodlan bar, _Claude thought with a dry smile. _I snagged it alongside the good cheese for Teach and the others. The doors weren't even locked tight._

“He's awfully overprotective, that's for sure,” Jeralt said with an air of dry observation. “Flayn herself looks a little stifled, wandering about alone whenever he's busy. She's probably be happier if she had something to do.”

“Hm! Perhaps she could join your daughter's class? Or maybe she could work with that young lad the Archbishop brought back from the Goneril estate; he always seems busy, and he might like it.”

“Somehow I don't think Seteth would appreciate the suggestion.” Their footsteps carried them past the doorway without pause.

Claude waited patiently until they faded away completely before returning to the desk, an amused smile on his lips. His candles were melted down to a halfway point; even if Seteth was laid out for the rest of the night, he didn't have all the time in the world. He leaned over the wooden table, turning the pages of the transcript again as he looked for the little hints he'd learned to be wary of ever since joining House Riegan. The mediators painted the picture of a disjointed court, nobles arguing with each other over what to do, public order deteriorating, citizens expressing fear for Dimitri who spent the better part of five months hidden away from the public for the sake of his recovery. _Five months...I knew he was the only survivor, but somehow I hadn't thought he'd been injured that badly..._Claude went back into the drawer, paging through the folders until he found a relief report that was referenced within the page he had been examining.

It turned out that, upon the Church arriving to the capital in order to distribute food to the surrounding towns that had suffered from banditry, Dimitri had unexpectedly appeared from his room and asked to travel the circuit with them in what Lord Rodrigue described as 'more words he'd spoken at once than he had in all the days since his return'. The report didn't explain how Dimitri argued his case, but he clearly succeeded because he went with the detachment through every village with a bag of fruit from the castle gardens. The author spoke of how the peasants cried with relief at the sight of him, crowding at his feet as he passed out food, hovering and rushing to prevent him from doing anything strenuous. A couple of bandits had been holding up a storehouse, threatening to set it on fire; apparently Dimitri went to talk to them, and they surrendered out of shame almost immediately.

_His people really love him, _Claude thought in awe. He felt a twinge of something unpleasant, something that almost tasted like envy. _The conspirators are up a creek. Those people would never accept anyone propped up in his place if they got what they wanted. They'd probably slaughter them if they even suspected foul play. _

_...That explains why it happened in Duscur. Any 'incidental' death that looked even remotely suspicious would bring riots down on them that would put even this chaos to shame. _

He flipped through the remaining pages and let out a sigh before returning it to its folder. _It looks like the King Regent is the only one with the means and ability to directly seize the throne...he's a known womanizer; sure, he might just like the company, but it's possible he hopes to end up with a kid bearing the royal crest. If that were to happen...well, Rufus was older than Lambert. That child would technically inherit ahead of Dimitri. And wouldn't _that _be a mess...unless something tragic befell the orphan prince not long after he met his sibling. _

It was neat, it covered all the bases, and the very record he'd just put away described Rufus and Dimitri arguing heatedly over the latter's decision to go among his people. Claude was willing to bet that a few sly questions would reveal that the two didn't get along in general. It was a perfect setup.

It also felt way too easy.

_Gah. I feel like a character is a play, being mislead by some charming rogue while he robs me blind. And I can't even put my finger on what it is that feels so _off; _it's just a nagging sense that something is wrong..._He shut the drawer and locked it, shifting through the keys to find the one for the upper-right compartment. _At least this isn't a complete bust. The reports in the library are so heavily edited they're barely comparable to these. That makes some sense; if the Alliance or the Empire knew how badly damaged the lands were, they'd likely offer their help in exchange for 'favors'; there's that old popular rant in the Empire about how they never should have let go of their 'old territories', after all. _

_Though the sheer extent of the alterations...did the council ask that of you, Lady Rhea, or did you do it?_

There were a couple of letters in the small drawer, stacked in a neat pile. Taking them out revealed unmarked envelopes and Seteth' neat, precise handwriting. These hadn't been shared with other church officials. Brow furrowing in curiosity, Claude opened one.

_...no sign of the force that would have been necessary to get past King Lambert's honor guard, but I did find remains of _that _magic, near an empty carriage abandoned on the road. Rhea, I wonder if Duscar did this at all. I think _those people _may have been here...perhaps stirring chaos and confusion, perhaps dripping poison in the ears of the reckless and aggressive. I have no proof...but it's worrying to think about._

“Those people?” Claude repeated aloud before he could stop himself. He snapped a quick look toward the door; it was still silent, with a few people walking around in the distance. Cursing himself for the slip, he looked down and finished reading the letter.

Nothing. He looked through the others, which chronicled Seteth's short-lived investigation of the Duscur area at least four weeks after the battle itself had ended. Nothing elaborated on 'those people', or the strange magic, or who was supposed to be in the empty carriage, which had the emblem of the Faerghus royal house.

_Could that have been the queen's wheelhouse? Did she escape the immediate slaughter only to get caught trying to run for the road? It makes some sense, I guess; all records say that she died there, but the bodies that might have been her were burned beyond identification. They can't be sure exactly where and how she died, aside from the fire. _Claude frowned as something odd occurred to him. _Was she separated from Dimitri and the others? How did she end up so far away from them? ...I suppose she probably ran off in a blind panic. Nothing I've heard about Lambert's queen suggested she was a warrior. _

_'Those people'. Who the hell is that supposed to be? The church – at least the central church – has its detractors, but who among them would orchestrate a slaughter up north for seemingly no purpose? Is it an organization? Is he just referring to some group of nobles with grand, crazy aspirations? Are they heretics? What the hell? _

_...Those footsteps are getting louder. Shit._

On impulse, Claude grabbed the letters off the desk and tucked them into his coat, blowing the candles out. Dropping the keys on the wooden surface, he hurried over to the window he'd left ajar and climbed out onto the windowsill. The door to the study rattled as he swung his feet over the side and found a foothold in the old worn stone; glancing over his shoulder, Claude saw one of the many trees surrounding the building creaking in the wind, a couple arms-lengths away. He grimaced, braced himself, and jumped for the lower branches.

Pine needles stabbed face, and he nearly lost his balance due to slamming his knee into the trunk hard enough to bruise. Cringing, he grabbed an upper branch and stared warily up at the window.

He had good hearing and eyesight – something he could thank his father for. He remained still as a statue, listening to the person – two people – stagger about, one of them kicking the bed with a pained curse. Manuela's voice drifted down, murmuring inaudible comfort as she helped the other person, who must be Seteth, get settled. _Geez, it was just three glasses old man! _Marianne _can drink that much without getting tipsy, much less wasted! _

He waited, his attention on the footsteps disappearing until all was still again. _That was close, _Claude thought ruefully, slowly reorienting himself so he could begin descending to the ground. _And I have far more questions than answers. Not to mention absolutely nothing to pass on to Dimitri that he hasn't already at least suspected. There's only 'those people', whoever they're meant to be. _The grass was wonderfully cool under his feet as he dropped down and slipped into the shadows cast by the monastery. If he went around the long way on the outside, he'd be able to scale the wall up to his dorm room. _Ah, I bet that's the most that's in Seteth's office. He addressed the letter specifically to Rhea; if there's anything else about them on paper, it'll be in _her_ office – and that's a damn sight harder to sneak into. Not to mention potentially dangerous. _

A half breed born under foreign sky, taking advantage of the archbishop's endless kindness? There were less painful ways of killing himself.

_I'll think of something. I wouldn't be much of a strategist if I couldn't sneak around dangerous people, would I? _

The tree beneath his window was one of the oldest in the monastery; it towered over the others near it and it's highest branches scraped against the high towers. It took him back to the forest he had so loved wandering through as a child. He'd spent so many hours there, wandering, seeking adventure, sometimes hiding from the cruel words of his peers. His mother liked to joke that he had been meant to be a bird upon once again finding him up in a tree, asleep against the trunk. He loved those trees, that familiar place he was always welcome in.

He let himself smile at the thought for a brief moment before putting it away.

He was not Prince Khalid, not right now. His father's son was traveling, gone on a long pilgrimage to strengthen his will in battle. There was only his mother's son, venturing to her homeland in the faint and vague hope of building bridges. It was one thing for Claude von Riegan to be a layabout, a troublemaker, a dangerous trickster; it was another entirely for him to be at all influenced by foreigners and savages.

At least, not right now.

\+ _ + _ + _ + _

The first day of class with Byleth – with Teach – was...interesting.

She'd arrived ten minutes late, a quick stride in her step and a textbook under one arm, her demeanor brisk and no nonsense. Dropping the book onto the table with an unceremonious thud, she turned on one heel to face them and said, “Good morning; I apologize for my lateness, my preparations ran overtime.”

She put one hand on her hip and looked out at her new classroom. “Have any of you been informed of what this month's mission involves?”

Ignatz hesitantly raised his hand, flinching when her cool stare fell on him. “I...I heard we're being sent out for a practical training exercise. Are we sparring with the Knights?”

“There will be an auxiliary battle at the end of this week that this house will be attending,” Byleth said with a nod. “However, the mission itself will see this class dispatched to The Red Canyon to dispose of the remaining bandits who made the attempt the lives of your fellow students just prior to my arrival.”

Claude blinked curiously. _Huh, they found that guy after he took off? I would have thought he would have kept running until he reached a border, any border. _

Byleth crossed her arms, her severe expression darkening a bit. “Let me make one thing clear – bandits are far from the greatest threat you will face on the battlefield. Bandits are often stupid. They are rarely loyal. Much of the time, they are either peasants who turned to pillaging in the face of crop failure or deserters too violent, insubordinate or disliked by the local lord to remain in society. _However, _bandits are desperate people, and that is and will _always _be dangerous.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “When we embark on this mission...you will get injured. There will be _real _danger. They will not care about your age, your status, your family...anything. They _will _kill you if they get the chance. _None of you _are to give them that chance. Am I understood?”

A moment of stunned silence lay thick in the room; Claude watched Ignatz's expression become stricken, Lorenz sit up as straight as if his father were in the room, Lysithea link her hands under her chin, and Marianne shrink back as though struck. “Got it memorized, Teach,” He promised, coming to the rescue of his housemates when the moment dragged on.

“Good,” She said briskly. “Now, from what I experienced during the mock battle, each of you is competent in at least one kind of weapon. In the two weeks before we leave, I want each of you to pick one specialization...” She walked to the blackboard and began writing, “...and begin to make some progress on it. By the time we return, I expect you'll be able preform well in that role. Practical, real-time experience has no replacement. Especially in war.”

She dropped the chalk on the desk. On the board there were now several columns, each with the heading _Myrmidon, Soldier, Fighter, and Monk._ Garreg Mach's famous starting lessons. “If you already intend to progress down a certain pathway, please use the board to inform me of your choice. If you're uncertain which way to go about this...come here and speak with me, and I shall do my best to approximate what will work with your strengths.”

With that, she leaned against the desk and waited.

There was an awkward quiet there for a very long moment. Hannamen and Manuela, who had overseeing them before, had always tried to ease their way into this moment with jokes, rambling stories and other socialization tricks. Hearing the situation laid out so immediately, so _bluntly, _without a single second spent on pleasantries was pretty startling.

And the most frustrating thing was her face was a _blank goddamn slate_. He had to strain to see any tick, any reaction that might indicate her thoughts. In the backstabbing, social-climbing high society that was the ruling body of the Leiscter Alliance, Claude prided his ability to read his older contemporaries like open books. It had saved his _life _on a few occasions. It prickled at him, being unable to guess exactly what the mysterious Ashen Demon was thinking.

The silence was broken by Lysithea standing up, speed walking to the front of the room and writing her name under _Monk. _Dropping the chalk, she bowed to Byleth and said, “I'm ready to begin.”

Did Byleth smile a little there? _Ah...it was gone so quickly, I'm not sure. _“Good to hear.”

That drained the tension away. Marianne hesitantly got up and made her way forward; Leonie shot ahead of her, scribbling her name under _Soldier _before proclaiming, “I'll show Captain Jeralt how much I've improved since we last met!” Marianne squeaked when the girl walked past her, meekly adding her name to _Monk _with a mumbled apology before hurrying back to her seat. Raphael and Lorenz came one after another, with Raph picking _Fighter _and Lorenz surprising him slightly by picking _Monk. _

Ignatz came the front, paused, and then gave Byleth a helpless look. Her lip twitched upward again as she gestured for him to come closer. Claude made his own way up to the board, watching as his new teacher walked in a circle around the diminutive painter, one hand raised up and resting against her neck as she considered him.

He was mildly impressed that Ignatz didn't blush at all under the scrutiny, and perhaps a little bit jealous.

“You'll be quick, if you build up your stamina just a bit.” Byleth said thoughtfully. “You don't have much in the way of muscle...but with the right weapons, and skills, you won't need it.”

“I won't?” Ignatz repeated uncertainly.

“There are people who can kill the hardiest of soldiers by exploiting small weaknesses; I've met a few on the job, and they thrive on being quick and hard to hit.” She walked around him once more before leaning against her desk again. “I suggest you go with Myrmidon; keep your bow along with the sword. You can adjust along the way if other possibilities present themselves.”

“O-Okay. Thank you, professor.”

Claude handed him the chalk (having written his own name under _Fighter. _It was as good a time as any to get better with axes; the bandits had proven that having a close range weapon to fall back on was a good idea) and wondered if he realized that Byleth was hinting at him making a decent assassin.

“Good.” Byleth waited until they were back in their seats before speaking again. “This afternoon, we'll be in the training grounds. Until then...” She took a small, glittering crystal from her pocket and placed it on the desk.

“Is that memory prism, professor?” Lorenz asked, his tone carefully polite.

“Indeed.” She nodded slightly. “I want you all to have a good idea of what to expect from battle, and I hope that you will learn a bit from observation. Jeralt's Mercenaries have taken many missions over the years, and I will be building my lessons around them.” She tapped her finger against it. “Shall we begin?”

\+ _ + _ + _ + _

_Do you know the story of Asch and his gargoyles, my little prince? _

_Of course! He's the god of war. In a time of strife, when the land was overrun by enemies, orphaned children prayed to him for help. He turned stone pillars into winged wolves and filled them with his power. They felt no pain, no fear, and they fought until they were completely destroyed. But they had no souls, so when there were no more enemies to fight, they just stood in place, and all but three of the children died from injuries sustained in the battle. _

...Honestly, Claude had thought Teach had been joking about not noticing having stepped on a nail until an hour after her battle with the slavers was over. Seeing the unstoppable Sir Jeralt freak out when he saw the bleeding only underscored his daughter's completely apathetic reaction to, again, having a nail _driven into her foot_. Not a lot surprised him these days, but...damn.

The fact that she _showed _them that part of the memory, rather than stopping directly after she defeated the last of the pirates below deck, spoke volumes. She wasn't embarrassed by her injury or by letting them see her father fuss over her. She didn't make any mock-serious observations about watching your step to downplay what it was like. She didn't even acknowledge it until Hilda asked, at which point she merely observed that she'd felt pain, but had put it aside to focus on fighting.

Knowing she was dead serious made the casualness of the words a little terrifying. How badly could Teach get injured before she stopped fighting? Could she take a mortal wound and keep whaling on her enemy regardless until both were dead? Would she stab _herself _if she needed to get at an enemy behind her?

_So, why are there gargoyles on the palace, if they failed to save the children? _

_Because they didn't loose the fight. They won, they drove the enemy away and the children that didn't survive died free of captivity. They would never stop fighting for Asch's people. _

Claude shook his head, watching as Byleth smacked Hilda's shoulder as her momentum carried her to a crashing _thud _on the floor. The new professor he'd snared, who'd been so endearingly awkward as he introduced her to life at the monastery, complemented the other girl's footwork before critiquing her inability to control her momentum. Despite the fact she hadn't known she'd been made a professor until a few days ago, she slipped into the role as easily as breathing, remaining in the training grounds long after the class day technically ended so her students could test their readiness against her.

So deadly, so beautiful... _Hah...I might be in over my head..._

He didn't believe that the war god sent his Teach (he generally didn't think about such things; being told that his mother's goddess considered him unclean was enough for one lifetime, thank you very much), but that old story just wouldn't leave him alone.

_There's no way that's natural. _

Claude would very much like to try his hand at fighting Teach...unfortunately, he was best with his bow and had yet to master Point Blank. It wouldn't be a _fun_ fight if he sniped her from far away – or she simply knocked him over upon getting close enough. Nah, he'd learn the ax first, then he'd challenge her. He rather hoped she'd enjoy that as much as he would.

Teach was human. She couldn't possibly be soulless. There were feelings there, somewhere, buried deeply under something he couldn't understand – not yet, anyway.

And what kind of prince would he be if he didn't try to help her?

He closed his eyes ruefully. He knew what that sounded like, after all. How many lords and kings abused and stomped on the people they needed to achieve their ambitions, only to be totally surprised when those same individuals backstabbed them when shown a kind hand? Why did they get off, treating someone so invaluable to them like dirt? Did it really stress them so hard to be kind?

Yes, he hoped that a friendship with Teach would sway her to supporting him in the future. That didn't mean he meant her any ill will. Far from it! He'd much rather bring a smile to that pretty face than see her troubled.

“You look like your thinking hard. Are you not going to try your luck?”

Through long practice, Claude did _not _fall over in surprise at the unexpected interruption of his thoughts. Turning toward a quietly amused looking Dimitri, he gallantly replied, “Somehow, I don't think I'd fare any better than you. Not yet, anyway.”

The prince chuckled. “Fair enough.” He watched Hilda stumble off the training grounds, only to be immediately replaced with Raphael. Teach's body language shifted into something Claude was tentatively classifying as bemusement as she nodded, idly passing her training sword between her hands. “They're sending you after the bandits.”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“...I had a thought, though I'm loathe to mention it. I don't want you going out on a limb looking for trouble.”

His smile widened slightly until it was a bit coy. _I already have, and for you. There's a couple of things I wouldn't mind doing for you, as a matter of fact._ “I promise, it's really hard to offend me your highness. Ask away.”

Dimitri gave him a Look (and yes, there was a capital letter for that particular expression) before saying, “Oh, do stop calling me that. You saved my life, Claude. The very least I can do is insist you use my real name.”

“I can? I'm touched, Mitya.”

“Wha-oh, for...only you,” The prince sighed in defeat. Then his expression became serious – well, more serious than usual. “It's that man who got away that night. If the possibility presented itself, I'd like to know why he tried to kill us.”

“Hm...I can't deny a bit of burning curiosity myself, but it's entirely possible the answer would be immensely unsatisfying.” Claude put his hands behind his head. “I've had people in Alliance territory not recognize me before; he might have just seen some rich kids and decided to try his luck.”

“And if he didn't?” Dimitri asked simply.

Claude raised an eyebrow and thought about that for a moment. “That...would a raise a number of questions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea that when Claude tells Byleth that he's been 'spending an inordinate amount of time in the library', he's neglecting to mention the other places he's gone looking for information. Because Claude is a sneaky boy and wasn't deterred from trying to slip into the Holy Tomb, which is a TAD more important than Seteth's office. 
> 
> I didn't get the Golden Deers as much screentime as I initially planned...because the next chapter is basically theirs, with Byleth managing them in battle for the first time. Fear not, my readers, our precious students will be given all the love and attention they deserve :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth takes her students hunting. She's not sure how she feels about this.

“You seem well, kid. Are you adjusting to life at the monastery?”

Byleth blinked up at her father, distracted from the Almyran Pine tea she'd prepared for both of them. “...I think I am.” She said simply, and felt a little surprised at how true it was. Just yesterday, she'd been wavering back and forth on her final lesson plan before their mission to the Red Canyon to the point of flailing before finally shoving it at Hannamen for examination. He'd had to insist that it was a good idea, if not perfectly constructed, for a couple of minutes before she calmed down.

She just couldn't forget how _mortified _the Golden Deer students looked after they saw her memory of that fight with the slavers. Even Claude's endlessly cheerful disposition had cracked just enough for him to look taken aback. It was a harsh reminder that she wasn't dealing with the other mercenaries from their troupe; she was in charge of a group of children who hadn't, ever once in their lives, been in a life or death struggle.

In the last week and a half, she hadn't slept much. Instead she stayed up late studying old lesson plans, asking Hannah for help setting up drills, wracked her brain for how she could possibly prepare them for fighting and _killing_ in the time she'd been given! It made her...anxious, she supposed. That was what Sothis called the awful knots that kept forming in her stomach.

“That's not the answer I expected,” Jeralt said, blinking. He said that she got the habit from him. “When we were mercenaries, I handled everything. You never spent much time with people outside of the troupe, even when we weren't on the clock. Here I thought getting thrown into a swarm of noble brats would be too much for you.”

“They're not brats,” Byleth argued, then paused. “Well...maybe Lorenz.”

Jeralt sputtered out a laugh, nearly choking on his tea. She patted him on the shoulder, apologizing hurriedly. He ruffled her hair in response, wheezing, “I'm fine; just didn't expect _that _either. When did you start getting catty?”

“I...had not intended to be?” She ducked her head. “It just sort of slipped out.”

“Was it him or the Gautier boy who propositioned you in the entrance hall? If it was him, 'brat' might be a good word for him.”

“Oh no. That was Syvlain...and I'm not altogether certain he was being serious.” Her brow furrowed. “Prince Dimitri apologized on his behalf somewhat frantically, implying that this is a frequent occurrence.”

“Nobles,” Jeralt muttered, before shaking his head. “They're sending you out after those bandits...that's fairly routine for you now, but don't forget it's the first real taste of battle for those brats.” He frowned. “It'll be tough to sleep at night if any of your little pupils die, so be careful out there, alright?”

Byleth bit her lip, staring intently down at her tea. “...I know.”

Jeralt looked at her in silence, then reached over and gently squeezed her wrist. “I wish I could be there to give my support, but Lady Rhea has me deployed elsewhere.” He grimaced. “The church has always been quick to make use of their knights...”

Byleth tightened her grip on the cup slightly. “Father...why did you tell Lady Rhea mother died to an illness? You said to me that she had died due to birthing complications.”

“...It's a long story.” Her father replied evasively. “Listen, kid. I don't mind you settling into your life here...but don't let your guard down. Ever. I'll try and figure out what she wants from you, for now.” What went unspoken were the words, _and if I don't like it, I'll ensure we can disappear again._

“Then you _are _afraid...won't you tell me why?”

Jeralt gave her a pained look. “I will, I promise. Just...not right now. You have enough to think about, wrangling those brats.” Then he surprised her with a faint smile. “Hey, are you worried?”

“Worried?” She parroted, nettled. “Of course I am worried. Why?”

“Sorry. I just know that's hard for you, always has been.” He leaned back against the couch. “I'm not much of a teacher without a weapon in hand, but if you want me to look at your plans for the battle, just know I'm right here. Okay?”

“...I would like that,” Byleth allowed, letting out a long breath and feeling the knot in her stomach loosen a bit.

\+ _ + _ + _ + _

_So, we are taking children into battle, are we? _Sothis muttered as the Golden Deer house and a detachment of the Knights of Seiros left the monastery, beginning the march toward the Red Canyon with the sun high in the sky. _I'm not sure I'll be sleeping soundly after this..._

_I thought the Archbishop couldn't spare any men to deal with something as trivial as a bandit attack, _Byleth admitted with a small frown. _But there are enough of them to protect the entire class if something unexpected happens...why not just send them? _

_Mmm...I doubt any of the villages those men have raided would call them 'trivial', _Sothis remarked sourly. The young mercenary winced in response. In her mind's eye, Byleth could see the child spirit leaning on the arm of her throne, eyes closed as though lost in thought. _Bah, do not feel so reproached. I know well what you meant by that. _

_Still..._

_Let us focus on solutions, yes? Do you believe your students are ready?_

Byleth glanced up at the sky. _I believe I've prepared them as much as I could within the time frame. They're all competent and decently capable of rolling with the punches, so to speak. Claude could take command of some of them should we need to split up; he's a good deal sharper than I'd expect for a noble in a crisis. _

_It's true. He puts a lot of effort into playacting the fool, doesn't he? _Sothis tapped her jaw.

_...Yes. It's likely a necessity, as the one who will eventually take command of the Alliance. _Byleth shook her head. _My father and I were contracted by one of the leading houses once. Edmund, I think; he wanted us to investigate rumors involving demonic beasts. While I was there...one of Lord Glouester's retainers had a servant attempt to drug me into a coma and frame Acheron's diplomat for it. _She scowled at the memory. _I don't think he believed I was one of the mercenaries._

_I imagine he regretted that, _the green haired girl responded mirthfully.

_Father called that 'just a taste' of what the jockeying for power among the highest nobles could be like, _Byleth recalled. _Even with the man demoted and Lord Glouester's firmest apologies, it was a while before he had us take a job from the Alliance again. _

“Professor?”

Byleth blinked twice, belatedly realizing that Lysithea was trying to get her attention. “Yes? What is it?” She asked.

“Are you sure about this?” The diminutive white-haired girl lifted her arm. The thick leather shield sitting upon it glittered in the sunlight. Byleth, upon taking one good at her, had dug through her troupe's inventory until she came up that and an iron counterpart she'd immediately forced on Marianne. “I haven't paid you for it yet...and it's kind of heavy.”

“Don't worry about money,” Byleth dismissed firmly. “Healers are priority targets on the battlefield. Even if you don't know any healing magic, your opponents will act on the assumption that you do.” She frowned. “If the blacksmith wasn't having so many logistical problems, I would have had gotten you proper armor. It will have to wait, unfortunately.”

Lysithea gave her a look she couldn't interpret before glancing away. “I can't. It would weigh me down too much. This is alright.” She hefted the shield arm.

“I see...You'll need a guard then...” The newly made professor mused, looking about her other students before deciding, “When the fighting starts, stay close to me. If we get separated, stick to Raphael. If you loose track of _him, _find Claude. Never stray too far from your fellow students, understood?”

“I –” For a second Lysithea seemed to gear up to protest, but she withered under the stern glare Byleth sent her in turn. “Yes, Professor.” Byleth relaxed just a bit at that and clapped her shoulder in a way the older mercenaries had always done to convey their friendliness and support. The small girl jumped a bit at the gesture, but didn't pull away.

_Why, why, _why _did Alois recommend me? _The Ashen Demon wondered in hopeless confusion. _I've never held command before! Father would have told him that! _

_There's no use complaining about it now, _Sothis mused. _There is simply nothing for it. I shall allow you to turn back the hands of time._

_Me?! You can do that? _Byleth nearly said the words out loud, only managing to choke them down at the last second with long practice. _You can transfer the power to me? I...would not have thought that possible! _

_Perhaps, _Sothis replied thoughtfully, _but some manner of bond exists between us, as this strange position we are in proves. My power is yours, though know that it is not infinite! Your magic, as it is now, can only sustain its use three times in a single battle. Reserve it for only the most crucial moments. _She could see the girl frowning. _For the children's sake. _

_I see...thank you. _

Byleth saw clocks and stars wheel behind her closed eyes, the sun setting and the moon rising, the tides rolling in and out. There...was no adequate way to describe Sothis's power over time rushing through her. The greatness, the _vastness_...she felt like a child again, lying in the sands on Almyra's shores staring out across the ocean. She felt like she was standing at the foot of Faerghus's snowy mountains, the peaks so far above her they vanished into the clouds. She felt _small_, insignificant, a speck of dust in an hourglass.

When her eyes opened again, she smiled. _Thank you. _

“Professor? You seem kind of distracted. Are you okay?”

Byleth glanced over at Ignatz, who had appeared at her elbow at some point. “I'm fine, thank you. I was just lost in my thoughts.”

“Are you a little worried too?” The young man fidgeted with the strap of his quiver. Out of all her students, he seemed the least confident, and honestly, the least fit to be a knight. She wondered what it was that brought him to the monastery – perhaps he wanted to stay with his friend, Raphael? “Oh, I-I'm sorry. I know you've done missions like this before countless times...I just-”

“I don't have a wealth of experience leading, compared to my father.” She didn't have _any_, in point of fact. But fear would undermine his capabilities just as much as a poor leader, and that was the last thing she wanted. “As a result I've felt compelled to consider my strategy from many angles, and I may well be overthinking it. That is all, I promise.”

It got Ignatz to smile, at least. “T-That's reassuring...thank you.”

Her father would smile, Byleth knew. He would chuckle and make some offhanded comment that would throw the troupe into a fit of laughter. Suddenly she found herself wishing she could do the same, but no clever or uplifting words would come to her.

“We're almost there,” She said instead. “Be prepared.”

Ignatz swallowed, nodded, and focused on the sky ahead of him. They walked the rest of the way to the mouth of Zanado in uneasy silence. Byleth could almost taste the nervous anticipation among the children surrounding her, could see it in the way they fiddled with their weapons and looked over their shoulders. (Perhaps it wasn't fair to call them children, when she was so close in age to them, but she wasn't sure what else to call a person who'd never had to kill before.) Only Claude was relaxed, his body language overtly casual even as the knights retreated to set up a perimeter, leaving Byleth alone with those she'd been entrusted with.

The entrance to Zanado was a slender stone bridge that could take three people walking side by side, chipped and cracked by age. Withered trees and dried grass covered the white gravel and hard parched earth; life was hard to come by in this place. Leaves crunched under Byleth's feet as she examined the area, frowned, and sharply gestured for her students to stop. “The targets are close,” She said calmly. “Get ready.”

_Blood and salt sank so deep into the earth that nothing living could ever flourish here._

A hot spike of _something _stirred in her blood.

“So this is the Red Canyon...” Claude mused, shrugging lightly before slinging his bow off his shoulder. “Doesn't look red to me...” She turned towards him with a confused frown on her face. “Anyway, let's get started, Teach.”

“Archer just beyond the stairs,” Byleth warned him, gesturing for her healers to come closer to Raphael. Lysithea had taken the time to learn the Heal spell on her instructions; though she was better suited to fighting than staying back and healing as Marianne seemingly was, the more of her students could heal another, the better.“And he's not alone.”

“Then let's get them to come closer,” Raphael said with a laugh. “Just like the mock battle.”

Something inside Byleth squirmed, reminded her that the mock battle used blunt weapons and _had Raphael ever been seriously injured before, _then she righted herself. “I'll go with you. Claude, cover Lysithea and Marianne and get ready to take care of the archer. Leonie, Lorenz, Hilda, when we engage come in from the side and finish them. Ignatz, keep an eye out.”

The first shot came with so little warning that Byleth only caught it thanks to long practice; she snagged Raphael's shoulder and dragged him back a foot, causing the arrow to hit his shoulder instead of his eye socket. Either the massive young man had a high pain tolerance or enough muscle mass to not really notice, but he did not falter, throwing the first punch when one of the bandits charged towards him, cheap rusted ax at the ready. The iron gauntlet crashed into the man's jaw, knocking him back; Lysithea darted up just behind her classmate and threw a spell – Miasma, if Byleth didn't miss her guess (there was only one mage in Jeralt's mercenaries, and she was an ordained Bishop) – that burned a hole clean through the man's chest. He swayed on his feet for a moment, the three of them able to gaze through the ugly, smoking hole to see the land beyond it, before falling to the ground.

Raphael made a knee-jerk noise of mortified disgust. Lysithea barely reacted at all, however, her hands clenched in preparation for another attack. Byleth didn't have time to say anything to that; the archer was lining up another shot while his second companion rushed the stairs. She moved forward to meet them.

An arrow whisked past her, nailing the archer directly through the throat at over a dozen paces. He let out a gurgling noise before collapsing to the ground. Byleth spared a moment to be impressed by Claude's marksmanship; hitting a moving target was hard enough without contending with allies potentially obstructing one's view. _Has he been in real fights even before this? _

She swung her blade up and then brought it down in Wrath Strike; the blow sliced through the brigand's leather armor; it was old and worn but well used, clearly he'd been in the peasant militia at one point in his life. If Hilda realized this as she brought her ax down on his head, cleaving it nearly in half, her shaky cheer of victory left no hint of it.

“Nice work,” She said, walking past her.

“Hee; I did it!” The pinkette's usual timber was a bit strained, but she seemed to be bouncing back quickly. “I was planning to hang back a bit and watch my classmates be amazing, but it seems I got it after all!”

Byleth's lips twitched upwards, despite an undercurrent of annoyance at the implication that Hilda would make herself a burden in a dangerous situation. Behind her, she could hear Marianne removing the arrow from Raphael and healing the resulting wound. Leonie hurried up behind her, lance in one hand and bow slung over her shoulder.

“The canyon mouth can be approached from two different directions.” Claude said easily, falling in step with her.

“Our team is full of green recruits and you want to split up?” Byleth asked mildly.

“Do you trust me?” The brunette replied her in turn, smiling at her in his usual manner.

What a question... She liked him. She was fascinated by him, for lack of a better description for the way he made her feel. But she didn't really know him, and he was concealing his thoughts from her with long practice. There was something that felt a bit like a challenge in his eyes, telling her that he knew her thoughts, asking her if their partnership was built on solid ground or mere fancy.

“I do,” She responded firmly. _Something _darted across his face in response to that, but it was gone too quickly for her to untangle. “Lorenz undermines you too much. Leave him with me. Take...Ignatz, Marianne and Leonie with you. Though, we need to take the field across this bridge first.” He smiled brightly at that, causing her an odd sense of relief.

The Golden Deer fell in a circle around the two of them as they made their way across the bridge. “There sure are a _lot _of them,” Hilda noted with a slight whine as a dozen men in the distance started shouting. “_Claude, _I thought you said only that one guy got away!”

“He did,” Claude noted dryly. “Clearly he has a lot of friends.”

“I'm not sure I'd call them friends,” Ignatz mumbled. Byleth blinked and had to stare for a minute before she saw what he saw – namely, one of the bandits repeatedly smacking a shorter comrade with the hilt of his ax before shoving him back further into the misty canyon.

“Eh, it depends on your definition.”

“They're coming this way,” Leonie looked about, frowning. “Ugh, there's no decent cover unless you're walking _under _a bridge. This place is too exposed. What should we do, professor?”

“Archers, form up.” Byleth ordered calmly. “Raphael, Hilda, come with me; Lysithea, stay with Claude, pick off anyone who gets close to you. When they're brought down, we'll split up and capture both bridges; otherwise we risk this man pulling another disappearing act.”

There were two archers in the gaggle of bandits; fortunately, Jeralt had followed through with his promise of buying her a new bow. It allowed her to throw off their aim with debilitating hits and protect her students. It was necessary...Ignatz, despite having a perfect opportunity to pick off one of the bandits, hesitated – perhaps horrified by seeing gore slipping out of the stomach wound – and nearly caught an arrow to the eye for that moment of pity. Byleth was more than a little surprised when _Marianne _avenged his near death with a single well-placed Nosferatu.

“Please forgive me, goddess,” The blue-haired girl whispered, her hand trembling as she lowered it. “And save their souls...”

Those...those might have been the first words Byleth heard her say, except perhaps for introducing herself. It was surprisingly compassionate...from a noble to a bandit... _Nosferatu is not a powerful spell. How did she-? No, this is not the time. _

“A nobleman does his duty,” Lorenz sneered before throwing a fireball directly into his opponent's face, killing him in a few painfully long seconds. The smug confidence didn't last when the stench of burned flesh surrounded him; Byleth watched out of the corner of her eye as the noble boy turned first gray, then green, then threw up on the hard ground while Leonie stepped forward to guard him.

Leonie... Jeralt had spoken of her from time to time; always with strong note of fondness. He would speak about a girl who never gave up, no matter what life threw at her. Watching the girl draw her bow with steady hands and pick off an archer trying to harass Lysithea with two well-aimed shots, Byleth believed it. “This is what I trained for,” The short haired girl bit out, stringing another arrow as she moved forward.

Byleth walked over to Lorenz's side and grasped his shoulder. “Are you ready?” She asked briskly.

“O-Of course, Professor,” Lorenz said, affecting his usual lofty tone. “Naturally.” He scowled. “Where in the eternal flames does Claude think he's going?” His house leader was already slipping away toward the far left bridge, Ignatz and Leonie hot on his heels.

“To carry out the plan we agreed on,” Byelth replied chidingly, annoyed. Lorenz balked and started to stammer an apology, but she shook her head. He could be a ridiculous noble on his own time. “Keep up. The last thing you want to have happen out here is to be separated from the army.”

Raphael was prying Hilda's ax out of the head of a bandit when Byleth came up to join them. Hilda was splattered in blood and wore a thoroughly sickened expression; if the Ashen Demon was to hazard a guess, she'd nearly been overpowered and, in a panic, slammed her weapon into the man's face with more strength than she'd intended.

“It's always more visceral up close,” Byleth offered when Raphael managed to dislodge the weapon with a stomach-churning _squelch. _“You're all doing well.”

“Ehehe...thank you, Professor,” Hilda took the ax gingerly.

“Yeah! We're pretty strong, aren't we?” Raphael boomed with a bright smile. Uncertain what else to say, Byleth nodded. “We just did what you told us, and we're winning! That's awesome!”

_At least he's looking at it positively? _“Well, we haven't won yet. Stay vigilant.”

The bridge into one of the deepest areas of the canyon gave a good view. There were roughly seven-eight brigands left, and a few of them were already rushing off toward the pathway Claude and the others were approaching from. That meant the experience could be spread evenly among her students, and they'd be able to wrap this up.

...It grated on Byleth to be holding back, which she'd had to consciously to do an extent ever since the fight started. She knew, intellectually, that she couldn't simply storm the canyon and slaughter the bandits single-handedly. Her students (the thought still sat funny in her head) needed to bloody themselves if they were going to become knights and lords of a good caliber. Largely she restricted herself to protecting them, weakening their enemies, and her muscle memory was fighting her every step of the way.

_Do not think you aren't protecting them, _Sothis murmured. _You are; focus on that. Train your mind around it. _

_...Okay..._

Lysithea stepped onto the bridge; a black flicker whistled upward, piercing her wrist. Amazingly, the girl didn't scream, instead as Byleth hurtled to her side, drew an arrow and fired down at the archer who'd been hiding under the stone, she prepared a spell and finished the boy (and it was a boy, a shaky, skinny little thing who'd frozen in either shock or horror upon getting a good look at her) off.

“Lysithea!” Raphael grabbed the small mage's shoulders as she buckled and made the critical mistake of looking at the arrow was skewered partway through her arm. Byleth uttered a number of words her father liked to use when the tide of battle changed unexpectedly; in a small blessing, the arrowhead didn't need to be cut out, but they still had to remove it.

“This will hurt,” She warned the young girl; Lorenz quickly produced an ice pack to numb the skin around the injury (she spared a single second to be surprised that he was carrying that sort of thing before shuttering it aside).

Lysithea made a face. “This is nothing,” She replied darkly. “I'm ready.”

She did make a sound at the arrow coming out – an involuntary sob – but nothing more than that. Byleth quickly cast Recover – better to do more than necessary when muscles connected to the hands were involved – and contemplated how that was more akin to her own reactions to injuries than anything normal. “Consider this a lesson in situational awareness,” She informed the girl sharply. “That is why you have the shield!”

“I...can see that,” Lysithea managed, gulping deep breaths to manage the shock settling over her. Raphael carefully patted her on the shoulder; she tried to glare at him, but it wasn't particularly strong. “Thank you.”

“Are you steady? Lean on Lorenz if you're not.” Byleth turned and glared down toward the little raised pile of stones where the bandit leader was cowering. “It's time to wrap this up.”

She led them and took on the two bandits remaining near their chief. Something boiling hot was burning through her blood; _how dare these rats hide in here?!_ Stepping over the corpses, she looked up to see the bandit abandon his high ground (not a smart man, this one) in favor of going after Claude, taking a wild swing at him.

“Spoiled little noble!” The man raged, flailing wildly. Claude ducked past his strikes with the ease of a dancer and readied an arrow. “Just die like a good little rich kid!”

“Being a noble has nothing to do with how hard your life is!” Claude retorted with a note of exasperation. Then he raised the bow and fired. His point-blank stance was hardly perfect, but an arrow to the shoulder was far more debilitating than most songs and stories made it out to be. The man shrieked and stumbled back. “Your logic is illogical.” In the blink of an eye, he spun an arrow around his fingers and fired it, this time hitting the man in the knee.

_That's an amazing draw time, _Byleth thought in wonder, even as she put her sword away and drew her own bow. It wouldn't do to get in Claude's way, after all.

“So, how much were you getting paid to knock off this spoiled rich kid?” Claude asked lazily, circling around his opponent like fox creeping up on a hen. “Or maybe you were being paid for the prince of Faerghus, and I just happened to be there? They must be pretty desperate to employ the first brigand they tripped over...” He smirked. “Then again, that does make you pretty disposable, doesn't it?”

The bandit screeched and moved to throw his ax at the teenager; Byleth's arrow pierced through his arm, causing him to drop it instead. Claude gave her a cheerful wave of thanks without breaking stride. “You must not have had anywhere to go after your boss cut you loose; most people who piss off the church don't try to hide in sacred grounds.” He let out a small chuckle. “It's embarrassing to think someone like you successfully ambushed us.”

“He...heh...” The brigand spat out blood. “They're going to destroy your kind. You know that? One day...there will be none of you left. No one to steal our livelihoods, no one to take food from our children's mouths, none! You'll all be laid in a filthy open grave on the roadside like so many of us...” His whole body tensed. “Starting with you!”

What he'd hoped to accomplish, Byleth wasn't sure. Claude's third arrow hit him in the eye, killing him within a couple of seconds.

This time, just to be sure, Byleth made her way over to the corpse and examined it. Confirming his death, she took stock of her students. Lysithea was standing upright again, looking satisfied. Lorenz was hovering at her shoulder with slightly overbearing concern displayed in a manner typical of his personality. Hilda and Raphael trotted up behind her, asking without words if this was over. Claude was frowning down at the body, his remote gaze swirling with thoughts. Marianne came up behind him, also staring. “Who do you suppose he was?” She asked softly. “Before this?”

“...I don't think even he'd remember, now.” Claude said, shouldering his bow. “Whatever he had back then, he'd long since lost. Or it was taken from him.”

“Do you suppose...?” Ignatz started, then closed his eyes. “He said 'they'. Claude, do you think...?”

“I don't know what I think,” The brunette said sourly. “There's just not enough to go on from that. I'd hoped to bait him into saying _something _useful, but it's no good. It could be somebody with a grudge against nobility...but they also could have just used that line to string him along.”

He huffed out a breath before smiling again. “Your leadership was amazing, Teach.” _It was?, _Byleth thought, surprised and...a little warm? “Let's leave the rest of this work to the knights.”

She nodded, gesturing for Lysithea to signal their escorts. The knights would comb the canyon, take care of any stragglers, and look for any sort of indication of what the bandits had been after. Her students started to walk back to the mouth of the canyon, chattering wildly amongst themselves...Byleth followed them for a short pace, and then paused, looking all around.

_This place was peaceful once... _

But how did she know that? And what...what about the bandits being here made her so angry?

\+ _ + _ + _

“Hey Teach, on the way back you seemed transfixed by the canyon. Did something happen there?”

Byleth stopped mid step in the entrance hall of the monastery, turning to look at Claude in surprise. “I...” She hesitated under that earnest gaze before saying, “It's...hard to say. In the time we spent there, I felt strange. That place felt...familiar.” She shook her head. “As if I had been there a long time ago.”

“...Huh. Can't say the same,” Claude put his hands behind his head. “Maybe it was a memory from your childhood. Or a past life.”

She blinked. “You believe in reincarnation?” Tales of lover's souls bound together, chasing each other through time...she'd heard them in Brigid, in Almyra, but not often in Fodlan.

“'Believe' is a strong word, Teach,” He replied easily. “It's just a thought. And I have to admit...I'm a bit curious about Zanado myself. How did it come to be called the Red Canyon? Nothing there was actually red.”

Yet another nameless feeling prickled up Byleth's spine. “I don't know...” She sighed, then looked at him. “Are you worried?”

“Huh?”

“About what that man said. Shallow graves and being wiped out.” Byleth raised one hand and leaned her cheek against it. “You were targeted just for being born...”

“Aw, Teach, fussing over your students already?” Claude beamed at her. “I'm fine, really. All I feel right now is a desire to catch the next guy sent after me, hold them by the ankles and shake them until all their secrets fall out.”

“I'll protect you.” It was his turn to blink in surprise. She felt it keenly herself – why had she... “I'm promising you that, alright? Whoever is causing this...has to get through me to get to you.” She hesitated, then bowed just a bit. “They'll lose.”

“I...don't doubt that,” Claude said after a moment, gazing at her with sharpening eyes. “What brought that on? We're pretty safe here...Garreg Mach hasn't been taken in all the years since its construction, though it's been assaulted in times before. Why-?”

“Because I'm grateful.” She interrupted him quietly. “That you aren't afraid of me. Or repulsed by me.” He fell silent, eyes widening. “I have wished for...” She hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue suddenly slipping away from her. She felt a warmth rise to her cheeks, followed immediately by an inexplicable anxiety. “I mean...ah! I have to file the report with the archbishop. I...I shall see you at dinner, I guess.”

And so the infamous Ashen Demon ran away from a boy with all haste, blood thundering in her veins, wondering what in the eternal flames had come over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (headdesks) This chapter. Gave me trouble. And I can't figure out why. I blame being more interested in writing up Lord Lonato's rebellion than the run out of the mill bandit introduction fight. Byleth can be a bit tricky to write at times too, if only because there are only so many ways one can describe 'I'm feeling something I don't understand and don't have words for' before you start to repeat yourself. 
> 
> Lysithea nearly getting sniped was me recreating an incident in my last playthrough where I put her too far ahead in my eagerness to finish the chapter and forgot that even the early game archers have one-three range. Fortunately, she didn't get doubled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of a rebellion looms. Dimitri finds solace in sparring.

“You're doing fine, Ashe,” Dimitri said reassuringly, walking back to the other end of the training ground. His fellow Blue Lion scrambled to get up, wincing from the fall he'd just taken, and brought his lance up with shaky hands. Ruefully, the prince of Faerghus noted that he had yet to successfully distract his classmate from his anxieties. “Do you want to take a break?”

“N-no, your highness,” Ashe said. His usual earnestness didn't reach his eyes. “I'm really grateful for your help here. I didn't mean to take up your entire afternoon...”

“It's no trouble.” Dimitri responded, his tone carefully gentle. _I wish you'd call me by my name, _he thought but didn't say; this was hardly a good moment for such things. “I always have time to spar.” He smiled lightly and prodded the other boy's leg lightly with the blunted training lance. “Shall we begin again?”

Ashe nodded, trotting warily back and forth as he looked for some way to approach his opponent. The former thief wasn't physically inept, but his comparatively slight frame had it's downsides – when one used a lance, strength and momentum are fairly important. Dimitri was so physically strong that any attempt to overpower him in a straight fight had proven useless. That said, Ashe knew full well there was more than one way around a battle; Dimitri wanted to see if he could exploit one.

The more he concentrated on that, the less he was dwelling on the news of Lord Lonato's rebellion...

Dimitri thought he might have frowned, because Ashe darted forward, smacking his arm with the edge of the lance and darted back immediately, the retaliatory strike only grazing the air. Ashe jumped back again as he pursued, leading his prince in a circle around the training grounds. The boy was quick on his feet, even more than Ingrid.

The huge double doors groaned as they swung open to admit someone, though Dimitri paid it no mind. Ashe had decided to try and wear him down until he made a mistake, and while there was some wisdom to that especially if you were weaker than your opponent...there was an inherent flaw to it. You _needed _to not get hit.

When most people evaluated him during training, they tended to focus on his unnatural strength to the exclusion of all else. While it was an easy thing to get distracted by, it frequently caused them to fail to notice something important – that is, the fact that Dimitri was deceptively quick on his feet.

He bided his time, letting Ashe feel more confident until he overextended. Then he struck; knocking the lance aside and landing a solid kick on the smaller boy's stomach. Ashe sputtered painfully and dropped onto the smooth stone ground.

The prince was instantly contrite. “I'm sorry, Ashe! Are you alright?”

“I'm...ah, ow...I'm okay.” Ashe wheezed a little, pushing himself up onto his knees. “You startled me...”

“I didn't hit harder than I intended to, did I?” Dimitri asked worriedly, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Felix has remonstrated me for that before...”

“No, it's okay,” The archer took it and got up the rest of the way, smiling reassuringly. “You didn't hurt me. I just failed to brace myself.”

“You guys are going to miss dinner at this rate,” A new voice cut in. Dimitri blinked and looked over Ashe's shoulder to see Claude leaning against a pillar, watching them with his hands behind his head. The prince, not for the first time, envied how relaxed and at ease his fellow house leader was so frequently. With the way he held himself, you'd think he was on a lazy vacation to a southern beach rather than at academy.

Though...now Dimitri wondered how much of that was an affectation. “Come now, Claude. The sun isn't _that_ low.” He ran a hand though his hair. “And I thought you were in a seminar.”

“Hannamen ended it early,” Claude said with a shrug. “Some important meeting got rescheduled. Everything here is a bit chaotic in light of the event that's apparently coming this way. And Teach is fishing, so I have to go bother someone else.”

“And you picked me instead of Lorenz? Should I be flattered?” Dimitri glanced back at Ashe, who was standing very still and staring intently at the other archer. The silver haired boy opened his mouth, closed it, and shifted from one foot to the other in a way that telegraphed his nervousness.

Technically, they weren't supposed to know that Lady Rhea had assigned the Golden Deer house to follow the Knights of Seiros sent to confront Lord Lonato and his troops. Ashe, in his distress, had spoken to everyone he could get a hold of and eavesdropped on those he couldn't; and thus overheard two knights discussing the matter – specifically, one saying that it made more sense to send the Alliance students for mop up because they wouldn't feel compelled to let any heretics they found alive escape. The other had apparently snarked back about valuing a lack of compassion in young soldiers and how the Alliance being pitiless backstabbers was the literal oldest joke in the book so his friend should get new material.

Sylvain laughed; Ashe didn't.

“Lorenz wouldn't be nearly so fun to wind up if he wasn't such a drama king,” Claude said with a shameless laugh. “Actually, I happened to walk by Mercedes and Annette; who were having a very polite fit over how you two missed lunch and wondering where you'd been all day, respectively. I thought to myself, where in Fodlan will I find an overworked prince who might still be upset Teach knocked him on his ass in a mock battle?” He spread his hands. “Lo and behold, here you are.”

“Oh, Mercedes...” Ashe looked down at the ground. “I told her not to worry.”

“She really needn't do so,” Dimitri complained. He wasn't Felix, damn it! “I've been keeping an eye on the sky.”

“How are you not starving?”

“The same way you can so expertly annoy people,” Dimitri said in a fit of exasperation, “That is, long practice.” After a second, he flushed slightly. Where had _that _come from?

Rather than be offended, Claude's face broke into an incredulous smile. “Was that a joke?” He turned his attention to Ashe. “You heard that, right? Or is the humorless prince actually cracking a joke still a fantasy of mine?”

“I-I'm not sure that was...” Ashe shook his head, “Ah...! L-leave me out of this!”

Claude just chuckled in response as Dimitri gave his classmate a faintly betrayed look. Feeling something between annoyance and a strange amusement, he smiled to himself and walked over toward the rack holding the training weapons. _If that's how he's going to play..._ “Well, if you're so lacking in distraction, come spar with us.” He grabbed one of the blunted axes, turning and sliding it across the ground to the brunette's feet. “There's still an hour of daylight before the kitchen opens.”

Looking up blessed him with the remarkable sight of Claude's emerald eyes widening in momentary alarm. “Oh, I didn't mean to intrude,” He said innocently.

“You're not; I'd meant to give Ashe a break after my misstep there.” Dimitri gave the archer in question a faint smirk. Ashe blinked owlishly at him, then nodded before retreating to the marble sidelines. “You ought to know that not everyone will engage you on your terms. Get ready, Claude.”

His fellow house leader grimaced for a moment before his charming smile returned. “As you wish, your highness.” Dimitri had _no idea _how he managed to make the given title sound like an endearment; it was either a gift or a weapon. He rolled his eyes and watched as the brunette initially took on an aiming stance before remembering which weapon he was using, and moved accordingly.

Dimitri walked in a lazy circle around his new opponent, eyeing him speculatively. A lot of fresh trainees underestimated how much upper body strength one needed to effectively use any sort of bow; Claude was surprisingly slender with that in mind, his figure largely hidden by his loose academy clothes. The brunette could outrun him, easily; their mad dash to Remire (while he'd been nursing bruised ribs at that) had proven as much. A hit and run strategy would be somewhat more effective in his hands than Ashe's (at this point in his training, anyway).

Claude watched him prowl with a familiar lazy smile, eyes empty except for the dispassionate calculation that had unnerved him for the longest time. His fingers drummed against the hilt of the training axe, whether that was nerves or merely getting used to the weight couldn't be said. Dimitri could feel Ashe watching from the sidelines with wide eyed interest.

“Too nervous to fight up close and personal?” Dimitri asked with a small grin.

His opponent's eyes flashed. “You insult me,” Then he moved, darting forward on light feet.

Dimitri parried, letting the momentum turn him to the side. Claude didn't waste a step, bringing the ax down on the middle of the lance. Briefly Dimitri remembered reading a paper with Glenn years ago; 'the theory of the weapon triangle'. It wasn't a widely accepted postulation, but the crux of it was that the weight of an ax allowed it to crack or outright break a lance, a sword could cleave an axe in half with a well placed strike, and the superior range of a lance put a swordsman at an inherent disadvantage. He seriously doubted Claude had read it, but the precise way he countered Dimitri's strikes suggested he aimed to use the curve of the ax to either break his weapon or disarm him.

_You don't like your chances, do you?, _Dimitri thought with a spark of heady amusement.

He raised his lance with both hands, blocking Claude's overhead strike. Then he kicked the other boy in the shin. The knee-jerk stagger threw off the brunette's center off; pushing his lance to the side, he leaned forward and lashed out again, this time hitting him in the thigh. Unbalanced, Claude crumbled to the floor, loosing his weapon in the process.

Dimitri re-centered himself and brought his lance down. Claude jerked to the side, rolling over and onto his knees looking up at his opponent. Dimitri made as if to impale him, though aiming for his shoulder rather than his throat.

Claude merely swayed to the right, then reached up and grabbed the shaft right below the 'blade' with his bare hand mid-strike. He smirked up at the prince's surprised face, then fell backwards dragging Dimitri down with him. The prince suppressed an unflattering noise of displeasure after hitting one hand and knee against the rough ground; Claude let go and rolled over one shoulder back onto his feet, hurrying to reclaim his axe.

Dimitri was on his feet by the time the brunette turned around; his knee smarted, but it wasn't debilitating. Claude darted past him, taking a swing at his unprotected back; forcing him to duck and turn, now on the back foot.

The brunette chuckled. “What? Never seen anyone use their hands in a fight before?”

“If there are many people mad enough to try and catch the blade of a sword or axe in their bare hands, I've yet to meet them,” Dimitri responded, taking a stab at the other teen's shoulder. Claude swayed to the right, dodging smoothly, and that's when the prince saw it; without realizing it, he was carrying the fight toward one of the building's pillars. _More fool he. _

He feinted right, and managed to hit Claude's stomach with the blunt end of his lance. A quick kick knocked the brunette into the pillar, wincing as collided with the hard stone. When those green eyes opened again, they became crossed as they looked down at the tip of the lance pointed at his throat.

“You think I'm still embarrassed by my loss?” Dimitri chuckled. “Hah. I've always enjoyed a good fight...and, might I remind you,” He lightly and gently pressed the lance point against Claude's chin, “If not for the Professor, I would have had you then too.”

Claude took a couple of deep breaths, staring back at Dimitri with a strange gleam in those eyes. “Haha...that was hardly fair, using your crest like that...only the prince of Faerghus could throw a training lance hard enough it hits like a mace to the stomach.”

Dimitri snorted and grinned, lowering his lance when his partner opened his hands in defeat. “I don't need to hear about fairness from the duke of schemes!” Turning on one heel, he walked back to the center of the training ground. “You have your own advantages borne of the golden moon in your blood; I merely leveraged mine better. Now come, unless you've given up?”

He heard the scrape of wood on stone and a low whistle before he turned around. Claude walked towards him, his expression alight with amused curiosity. Training always relaxed him, and getting one over the enigmatic teenager was enough of a victory that he felt immune to the obvious scrutiny. “Hardly.”

This time Claude waited for Dimitri to come to him; he knew he was faster than the prince, even before his crest was factored in. The Crest of Riegan was famous for giving its holders inhuman stamina; stories abounded about various heirs running for a day and a night without stopping, outlasting a room full of foes by fighting until their opponents exhausted themselves one by one, climbing mountains while weighed down by unconscious partners. Claude wasn't physically stronger than Dimitri – few, if any, were – but there was little doubt in the prince's mind that the duke could easily outlast him. As he threw one flurry of attacks after another, Claude focused almost wholly on parry and dodging, occasionally smiling but largely wearing an expression of calm concentration. _He wants something to exploit. _Dimitri could admit he wasn't the most graceful fighter, and that his fighting style 'clunked' in certain places since he'd largely taught himself after the household knights were slaughtered in Duscur. _(No don't think about that right now_) He couldn't give the other teen a chance to exploit the vulnerability he knew was there.

Claude's ax hit his exposed leg, as if to underscore his thought. _You're too slow, Dimitri, _Glenn chided him as he jumped back to avoid the swing at his upper leg. _You're still too slow. _

_I know! I know! _He parried, side stepping past Claude to lash at him, regain control of the fight's momentum. Claude slid past the attack again, taking another swing at his chest. Dimitri stepped back, grimaced, and quickly drew up a plan. He circled back and made to visibly favor his bruised knee, squaring his shoulders and taking a more defensive stance.

He saw a brief flare of wariness in Claude's eyes. The brunette swayed in place for a moment, curious, then – quick as an arrow – threw his ax at Dimitri's chest. Swearing, Dimitri dropped his lance and brought up both arms to protect himself; the impact rattled his arms. Claude darted forward and kicked his leg directly on the bruise (_on purpose or by accident, who knew with him_); the shock was debilitating enough to unbalance him.

Claude grabbed his arm as he stumbled, pulling it behind his back and locking it there. Dimitri winced, instinctively going to one knee in response to the pressure. “Oops,” He said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

The joke inflamed him, though not in a visceral way – goddess help him, but Dimitri was tempted to laugh. _I truly do enjoy this too much, _he thought ruefully, right before grabbing Claude's arm and pushing his back into the other teen's chest. The brunette barely managed a squeak of surprise before Dimitri pushed upwards, flipping over his shoulder and onto the ground. The arm Claude had been holding was nearly jerked out of its socket, causing Dimitri's vision to briefly blur as the muscles loudly screeching their displeasure at his tactical maneuver. Claude was starting to get up, though, so he paid it no heed, tackling the slighter teen and pinning him to the ground, one hand on holding his wrist above his head while he sat upon the boy's legs.

Claude blinked the stars out of his eyes and stared up at Dimitri. Their closeness in that moment let the prince see the flush in his opponent's cheeks and how rapidly he breathed as he took stock of the position he was in. “Okay,” he said in odd voice (_Did I wind him? I didn't mean to do that-_) “so trying to pin you is pointless. Good to have that ruled out.”

“You threw that fight?” Dimitri asked, shifting his weight a bit as he waited for the brunette to signal his surrender and grabbing the teen's other hand when he felt it on his hip. He couldn't help feeling a little annoyed at the implication.

“No,” Claude said, still sounding breathless. His wide eyes darted about Dimitri, and when he clearly decided he couldn't wriggle out of the pinning, he opened his palms with an oddly meek smile. “I thought I had an opportunity. I took it and it backfired. ...Though I figured I'd at least take your arm out.”

“You almost did,” Dimitri allowed, relaxing. He quickly crawled off the teen's legs and got back to his feet. “In a real fight, if you'd dislocated my shoulder straight away I wouldn't have been able to do so.” He regarded the schemer curiously as he slowly sat up, staring at him with yet more careful consideration. “You're doing better than I expected. Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Claude waved dismissively, before heaving himself to his feet. He looked past Dimitri, walking over to pick up his ax again. “That's not much where I come from.”

Dimitri swallowed a noise of surprise, wondering if that was a reference to training in the Alliance or an oblique description of combat instruction in Almyra. He didn't have time to debate asking, however; Claude turned around, one hand on his hip while his axe leaned against his leg and smirked, lazily gesturing for the prince to come and get him. Dimitri felt a tinge of embarrassment and thought, _only you could make that look insinuating, _before snatching his lance up and striding forward.

As they clashed again, it briefly occurred to Dimitri how differently Claude fought compared to Felix, who also greatly favored speed. Felix relied wholly on his strength; he could and would dodge to get the advantage, but he seemed to actively loathe fighting defensively. Claude, meanwhile, would leverage his strengths in whatever way would bring him the win. It was fascinating, really. If he had the chance to watch the two of them spar...

Well, a sudden hit to the side reminded him to concentrate.

He focused on trying to keep control of the battle momentum; no easy task when Claude would simply dart back whenever he tried to initiate a blade lock. Even as his undoubtedly bruised knee keened at points throughout the 'dance', Dimitri couldn't help but grin. This was _good_. It was too bad that Claude preferred bows; this was completely unlike fighting Ingrid, Dedue or his other classmates. He could see the brunette shifting his strategy moment to moment, changing how he moved just in time to slip out of his grasp. _It's so rare that someone makes me _work _for it, other than Felix. _

“You look so cheerful,” Claude remarked between breaths, taking a swipe at his leg again. Dimitri parried it. “Am I that good?”

“You're elusive,” Dimitri replied, feinting vulnerability for a moment. It seemed Claude had caught onto that, though, because he merely stalked around the prince as if to catch him from behind. “I know how to beat you; it's nice when it's not easy, though.”

“Oooh, is that right?” The brunette crooned, slipping past him once again. Swinging behind the prince, he tapped him on the shoulder with the flat of the ax and jumped back when Dimitri turned to jab him. “Cockiness doesn't suit you, your highness.”

“You never let up, do you?” _He's overextended himself, again. _Dimitri lunged forward, knocking the ax away again and forcing his opponent back. Then he swung again.

Claude dropped to his knees, letting the strike fly over his head. The prince had a split second to realize it...What Dimitri hadn't noticed was that this time, _he _was the one being lead to one of the pillars. He barely checked his momentum in time to avoid crashing into it, and started to turn about...

...Which was when Claude's hand grabbed his hip – almost like he was about to take him to a dance – and spun him around. Surging upward, the duke shoved his back against the pillar and pressed hard leather against his throat. His free hand grabbed Dimitri's wrist, arresting the lance mid-movement. “Gotcha,” Claude panted triumphantly, emerald gaze alight with glee.

Dimitri swallowed hard against the weight against his throat. He knew what he felt was a sheath, but even still... “...You've had that in your boot all day?”

Claude raised an eyebrow. Hesitantly, Dimitri opened his palms in surrender, and at that Claude pulled back the short dagger and let it rest by his side. “Force of habit,” He said breathlessly, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “Spend a few weeks in the Alliance, if your honor can stomach it. You'll start keeping one at both ankles too.”

“And here I thought the rumors had to be exaggerated...” Dimitri twisted his wrist a bit in Claude's grip, but the other teen seemed content to keep him pinned for a moment, perhaps to immortalize his victory. He could feel a flush rising to his cheeks as he gazed into those intense eyes, eyes Professor Manuela had so accurately described as 'drowning pits for the soul'.

“Eh, they are. But the rumors that stick around tend to come from somewhere.” The prince could feel Claude's breath on his lips. His heart was still hammering; his sudden loss aggrieved by the lingering closeness. _W-What's this...? _

After a long, confusing moment, Claude released him and stepped back, grinning, his brow slicked with sweat. “Well...as entertaining as that was, Mercedes will be cross with me if I don't do my job and ensure you and Ashe make it to dinner. Let's go and find him again, shall we? ...And we might want to bathe before the first course hits the tables. Lorenz will take all the fun out of dinnertime conversation otherwise.”

Dimitri caught his breath and let out an awkward laugh. “That's true enough.” A glance up at the sky showed him the shift in the sun's rays; the celestial body had begun it's descent, and soon there would be streaks of pink and gold coloring the clouds. “Thank you for that, Claude.”

“Maybe I should thank you,” Claude responded easily. “Teach was most put out at my having 'neglected close combat'.”

As they put their training weapons away, Dimitri winced and rubbed his knee. “Hey, I didn't mess up your leg with that little stunt, did I?” Claude asked with a frown in his voice.

“No, no. It's just a bruise; it's the placement of it that makes it hard to ignore.” Dimitri hung the rack back up and ran a hand through his hair. “I'll go see Professor Manuela after dinner. You're sure you don't need to do the same? I threw you pretty hard.”

“What, that? That's nothing I can't sleep off. No need to worry quite so much.”

Dimitri snorted. “Remind me never to leave Ingrid in charge of your well being. If you think I'm prone to fretting, the two of you might drive each other to frustration.”

\+ _ + _ + _

Finding Ashe wasn't a problem; he was lingering outside Professor Byleth's dorm, walking back and forth and clearly frustrated with his inability to approach her privately. Dimitri had a sinking feeling he knew what his friend wanted, though it wasn't his place to protest. If anyone should have the final word on it, it was Ashe...he was the one who had the most as stake with Lord Lonato's Rebellion gaining more momentum.

It baffled Dimitri. Frustrated him. What on Earth was Lord Lonato thinking? It would be one thing if he had the soldiers to back up his revolt against the church, but even his cursory knowledge of Castle Gaspard told him that such a thing wasn't possible unless he had outside assistance. All he would achieve by marching on Garreg Mach with the men he had would be the sacking of the devout villages that littered the road to the monastery. The Knights of Serios may not be a 'true' army like those that could be fielded by Faerghus, Adrestia and the Leiscter Alliance, but they were the greatest soldiers on the continent, and a powerful force when brought to bear. There was a reason the threat of their appearance was used to settle disputes between warring nobles. There was a reason they were feared by those who turned against the compassion and wisdom of Serios's teachings.

What did he hope to achieve? Why drove him to such a drastic action?

It did aggravate Dimitri a bit that Rhea had chosen Claude and Professor Byleth to handle this mission instead of his own house. He had no desire to kill men and women that he, as their prince, was sworn to protect, but he _was _the Prince of Faerghus. If one of his Lords was doing wrong, did he not have a responsibility to set things right? It rather felt like the ugly matter was being pawned off on the Golden Deer out of political expediency, and that rankled.

A quick bath did little to ease his swirling thoughts on the matter, but it did soothe his joints, and having skipped lunch finally caught up with him when he entered the dining hall and smelled vegetable soup, cooked fish and beef.

“What do I have to do to make sure you eat lunch, Dimitri?” Mercedes complained while he devoured the meal before him, irregardless of being unable to truly enjoy it. “And you too, Ashe! That's a terrible habit to get in to!”

“I'm sorry,” Ashe mumbled, staring down at his untouched soup. “I...I didn't feel like eating.”

Mercedes gently squeezed his arm. “Oh Ashe, I'm sorry too..I know you're upset, but you really must keep yourself healthy! It won't do any good, for yourself or Lord Lonato, for you to be running around without food.”

“I know, I know...it's just...” Ashe fiddled with his spoon. “Whenever I think about eating, it's like my stomach's in knots. I've been trying to concentrate on _anything_ else, but it doesn't help.”

“C'mon,” Annette leaned over Mercedes to ruffle his hair. “Just eat a bit of it! They're serving Peach Sorbet for dessert tonight, and Mercie won't let you have any if you don't _try _to finish the soup."

Ashe managed a weak smile at that, staring down at his bowl.

“It should be us going out there,” Felix muttered darkly from Dimitri's far left. “Why are the Deer given a Kingdom matter to settle while we're being sent to hunt dime-a-dozen bandits?” The prince was half-tempted to cuff his old friend's head as he often did when they were children for being so tactless within Ashe's hearing. Unfortunately, that gesture would not be taken as it had used to.

“You got me,” Sylvain shrugged, the gesture offset by the genuine uncertainty in his face. “I mean, what could go wrong? Best case scenario, Dimitri or Ashe could maybe talk Lonato down or at least figure out what's going on.”

“Perhaps the Archbishop fears a conflict of interest.” Dedue shrugged, draining the remains of his own soup. “Or perhaps she believes a more neutral party could better assess the situation's aftermath. They are being sent after the vanguard, not alongside them.”

“I don't like this,” Ingrid said, pushing fish bones around her plate with her fork. “Why would Lord Lonato prepare to march on Garreg Mach after having sent Ashe there to study? Maybe we're being fed a lot of misinformation. Maybe someone else is acting in Lord Lonato's name and hopes to use him as a pasty.”

“That's...a rather tempting scenario,” Dimitri acknowledged after swallowing. “Unfortunately, I doubt it. Ordering a march on the heart of the Central Church...his people would insist on hearing such orders from their Lord's own lips. He would have to convince them to join them on such a crusade. It's too mad a suggestion otherwise.”

“The Kingdom has always been blessed with a close relationship with the church,” Mercedes murmured. “What could have kindled such hatred in such a kind man?”

Ashe swallowed a mouthful of the soup and let out a mournful sigh. “I _don't know! _I've been loosing sleep, wondering and wondering...Lonato is devout. He taught me the prayers and the songs. I just...I can't...” He frantically rubbed at his eyes. “I guess...it must be because of Christophe...”

Dimitri blinked. He'd heard that name before, of course...attached to the list of supposed conspirators involved with the Tragedy of Duscur. Even in his most haunted moments, it had seemed strange to him. Castle Gaspard was the house of a minor noble, and one that had little effect on court. He couldn't imagine what they might have gained from being involved. His father had spoken well of the family.

Then again, he knew in his gut that whomever had slaughtered his family and friends _must _have had help from within the Kingdom. There was no other way such a total slaughter and decent framing could have been pulled off in a short window. If Christophe truly had...

No. This wasn't the moment for such thoughts. Ashe needed his support, not the cruel bite of his demons. He lowered his eyes away from Glenn's flickering specter, leaning against Ingrid's chair opposite him, and finished his meal.

Ashe made a small noise. Dimitri blinked, following his gaze to see Professor Byleth stand from table where she was surrounded by her students, say something to them, then quietly wander from the room. _She doesn't enjoy crowds much, does she?_ Ashe got up so quickly he knocked his chair over, darting through the crowded hall after her.

“Ashe!” Mercedes cried in surprise, scrambling to chase after him. Dimitri wasn't sure what compelled him to follow, but he did so, apologizing to the serving girl Ashe had nearly knocked over in his haste.

The two of them paused at the top of the stairs that lead into the lower dorms. Byleth hadn't gotten too far; she stood still, one hand tugging at a knot in her hair, as Ashe came to a halt in front of her.

“Professor, please – please,” Ashe said breathlessly. “I-I want to come with you and your class on the mission to Madgral Way. I won't get in the way, I promise, I-I just have to be there.”

“Why?” There was no accusation in Byleth's even tone, just a calm desire for clarification. “Our mission isn't to take part in the fight itself. Just to clean up afterwards. It won't be much different than the bandit cleanup you're being sent on. You may actually face less action coming with us than on your assigned course.”

“I don't really care about that,” Ashe insisted. “It's doesn't matter. I just have to go and see it with my own eyes. Speak to Lonato, if I can. I need this chance, professor, please bring me with you.”

“You're calling him...” Byleth shifted a bit, tilting her head and raising one hand slightly. “Wait. Dimitri told me you were...” It was hard to tell from the distance, but Dimitri swore her face settled into a gentle frown of concern. “I don't understand. Ashe...do you know what we're being sent to do?”

“I do,” He winced as the younger boy's voice crack. “I know the people who will be there. I grew up around them. They were always kind to me. But...but...! I need to know why this is happening. M-Maybe I can convince some of them to surrender. Maybe I can't. But I have to _try_. I c-can't just sit here while everyone I know and love goes to war.”

“...But...do you really want that? Do you want to see them die? Do you want to identify bodies for the Knights? Do you want to watch...” Byleth's voice cracked into bewilderment. “I...” She wrapped her arms around her. “I...I believe I'd need to ask the Archbishop. Or else your class will be short one member for their mission this month.”

“Thank you, Professor.” The painful relief in Ashe's voice was palpable. “Thank you so much...”

Dimitri's heart clenched as though it were in a vice. He wished Byleth had refused the request. Especially since she seemed uncomfortable. He hoped the Archbishop would agree with him.

He'd watched his father loose his head, be murdered and desecrated....he didn't want kind, gentle Ashe to wake screaming from the same nightmares that plagued him every night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (claps) Three cheers for Dimitri's inability to pick up on subtle cues! Man, that sparring match gave me trouble, clearly I need to work more on fighting and combat scenes in general. 
> 
> I have...some feelings about Lord Lonato that will become more obvious next chapter. Meanwhile, Ashe needs hugs (and will get them)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude has to fight through fog and deal with the consequences of Ashe's assistance as the Golden Deer are sent to face the results of Lord Lonato's rebellion.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thwip!_

Claude reached for another arrow and frowned when his hand brushed against his shoulder blade. “Whoops,” he muttered, slinging the iron bow over his shoulder and walking across the field to the targets he'd set up much earlier. It was misty out, the sun just barely peaking out over the treetops; few people were out and about besides him, which suited him fine. No one needed to see him venting. Venting implied something was eating at him, and the less anyone suspected that the better.

_Stupid, idealistic fool, _he thought irritably, yanking one arrow after another out of the bullseye. _Are you really so starved for a kind smile and sweet words that you'd practically throw yourself to someone who couldn't have you even if he wanted to? _He'd yet to decide if Dimitri's apparent obliviousness was a curse or a blessing. _Get a grip. You've had your head in the clouds ever since that chat in the greenhouse. _

His heart thumped traitorously at the reminder; he wrenched the arrow out of the tree trunk hard enough to snap it, leaving it dangling uselessly in his hand. “Damn it.” Forcing himself to breathe out slowly and count to ten, he made his way toward the next target, toes sinking into the cool grass. “Why do I do this to myself?”

...A stupid question, really. It was like asking why a desert traveler drank so deeply from the well when he stopped in civilization.

Why? Why was it _like this_? How could a single compliment, not even a direct flirtation!, cut straight through all armor and scar tissue around what might have been his heart to pierce something so desperately vulnerable? _It was because he meant it. He wasn't mocking me...he defended me from that very sort of verbal assault. He really looked at me and saw something so breathtaking it left him quoting his country's most famous romantic fable. _

Of course he only realized it now. Upon meeting him for the first time, Dimitri had stared at him for several seconds without speaking while he had acted his usual self – that is, mocking the overly serious knights looming in the doorway and sarcastically addressing him as your kingliness. Then, apropos to nothing, the blonde had blurted out, _'lord, El, why didn't you warn me?_' Naturally he'd been offended (he'd heard much less friendly variants of that ever since arriving in Deirdru), and promptly dedicated that afternoon to annoying the other royal as much as possible.

If he'd had the chance to read the fable beforehand, he might have realized that those were nearly the exact words the protagonist spoke upon beholding the now-human star, completely mesmerized by the sight of him.

_The skin, the eyes, the very things that brand me as mixed blood, an __**outsider**__, are beautiful...? _Claude shook his head violently – as if the gesture could somehow scatter his thoughts.

He'd just woken from dreams so sweet they were poison in his chest, and it seemed no matter how many arrows he fired, none of them would rend the illusion apart. Send the blissful images back into the depths of his mind where they could be locked away.

Why couldn't he be sensible about this? Observing Dimitri in the weeks before Teach's arrival had proven that the northern prince was staggeringly, mind-blowingly dense. Claude wasn't sure what else to call someone who's bodyguard was in love with him and making no attempts to hide it, yet whom operated entirely on the assumption that they were merely friends. Sure, Dedue seemingly had no intention of ever seriously pursuing Dimitri, but he was so _obvious _Claude had thought the prince _had _to know. But no, a few probing jokes made it clear that he didn't have an inkling.

So, Dimitri was socially clueless. If he ever managed to flirt with someone, it was probably by accident, and there'd be no way to mistaken any actual advances for anything else. He'd be too direct and clumsy. If he had any intimate interest in men, he either didn't know it or was hiding it. (Claude had caught him admiring Teach occasionally, but then again so were half their classmates. Dorothea in particular couldn't quite seem to help herself.)

Oh, he didn't doubt that Dimitri _meant _it when he said...said _that_. It just...probably didn't mean what it did in the story.

_No one's ever said that before. Never said it seriously. When they said it, they were offering me a chalice full of poison so thick I could smell it. _Claude strung up an arrow and fired it, hitting the bullseye again.

In the days coming up to the mock battle, he'd gone and made the grand mistake of actually _reading _the damned fable. He'd spent that night wide awake, heart racing, the constant descriptions of the star's divine beauty ringing in his ears. Serious, honorable Dimitri, who couldn't tell a joke to save his own life, had thought of _that _when seeing him for the first time...

His arrow went wide, landing somewhere in the grass. Claude nearly swore in his birth language before checking himself.

He had no idea what ambrosia he'd drunk a week ago that made him confident enough to flirt after Dimitri challenged him to a spar. Carefully, quietly, leaving himself an out if it was needed...but he still _did _it. While Dimitri didn't seem to have picked up on it, Ashe might well have – the kid had excused himself right after the prince had pinned him, momentarily leaving him a flustered mess. Even now the memory of that moment brought blood rushing to his face.

What the _hell _was getting into him? You'd think this was the first time he'd ever teased an attractive man; generally speaking he preferred girls, but boys had their charms, and he was hardly oblivious to the effect he often had on them (_until they realized where he was from_). Why the hell was this getting to him? Why couldn't he just laugh, shrug and _move on_? (_Because Dimitri knew, he knew and he still said it and meant it-) _

Asch's blood and bones, he was turning into Aisling! He had no idea how a pure blood, properly raised Almyran girl like his cousin could be such a swooning romantic, and sometimes he wondered if his mother had something to do with it. _Come on, think about something else, anything else..._

“_I'll protect you.” _

Claude's hands shook on the bow. He tightened his grip, swallowing. _That's not much better. _

Teach...why would she promise that? Just to him. Not the whole class, unless she'd done so after leaving dinner that evening. (And, well, she might've, but he'd been too distracted to notice!) It was her job, yes, but she'd blushed and then fled in embarrassment – that was a stronger reaction than what she'd had to winning the mock battle!

_Anyone who would hurt me has to fight you? The attempted poisonings, the weapons thrown in spur of the moment hatred, the beatings, you'd tackle them all in my place? Do you...do you know what you're promising me? Did you mean it? Did you actually mean it, cold and pitiless Ashen Demon? _

...She'd thrown herself in front of an ax to save Edelgard, a girl she didn't even know. She let strangers examine her memories in order to prepare them for a battle. She spent several patient evenings improving his and Ignatz's firing posture, telling him that he was close to pulling off point-blank. Even though they'd had to approach her, not the other way around, she always took to their needs with serious attentiveness.

_People say all sorts of things, _he reminded himself harshly. _They always have. _

_But doesn't it mean something different coming from her? Is an emotionless girl who watches with that look of lost confusion when Raphael and Ignatz laugh at an old joke, when Hilda teases Marianne, when Ingrid yells at Sylvain for being trouble, truly capable of screwing with you that way? Maybe she's serious. Maybe she thinks of you as a friend worth shielding. _

Claude angrily strung two arrows and fired. They at least hit the target, though they were off center by a wide margin.

This wasn't safe, _this wasn't __**safe**_. Hope was a mistake. It always had been.

He reached for that indifference he had cultivated, tried to force all those warm happy feelings back into the vault he'd locked them in after two boys who'd claimed to be his friends left him to drown in a swollen river for the _sin _of being a half breed as a child. After that lord had his men beat him unconscious for being 'too friendly' with his daughter. After his grandfather's face twisted with revulsion when he looked upon him for the first time and only saw the face of the barbarian king who stole his daughter from him.

He was good at fooling people, but he'd rather not add himself to the list of those he'd tricked into letting their guard down. Wouldn't that be embarrassing?

_He was being kind. He's like that with everyone, even Felix, who's constantly antagonizing him. It doesn't mean anything special. _

_She's concerned about not knowing where the enemy is, not knowing what to expect. It's natural for a mercenary to want their escort to feel confident and safe. She was just trying to reassure me, and felt awkward about it. She's clearly not used to other people her age. _

His arrow hit the target, wildly off center, but it struck true.

_He's handsome. He's amazing in a fight. It's fun to tease him just to see his flustered reactions. It's just a little game, a mutual joke between us, and I'm thinking too hard about it. Anything more requires trust and I don't trust anyone. I can't afford to._

Another arrow hit closer to the bullseye. Claude thought about that darkness he'd seen shadow Dimitri's expressions, the tightly controlled behavior that only someone who feared the results of humoring their thoughts utilized. He'd seen warriors who'd repressed themselves that way back at home. The moments when their control gave way...were frightening.

_I can't truly trust him, not completely, until I know what's inside him that he's so afraid of. _

He felt a twinge of guilt for that thought, especially now that he attached it to a warm, compassionate, friendly face. But his own darkest secret had been dragged out of him, in a frightening, humiliating way, and he knew that until he saw Dimitri the same way the prince had seen _him _in that moment, there would still be a barrier keeping them apart. He would be kinder, gentler, more _careful _when seeking this secret...but he wanted to know it. He wanted...

...He hesitated on the next draw, coming to the startling realization that he genuinely wanted Dimitri to _entrust _it to him. The way he was trusting him to keep his heritage secret, a trust that had yet to be betrayed. How long had it been since someone did that for him?

_He couldn't have you even **if** he wanted you, _he repeated to himself. Nope, with him being the last legitimate heir to the throne, Dimitri's future marriage involved a socially acceptable woman who could give him lots of children. It was silly to even whimsically contemplate otherwise. _He couldn't have you even if he wanted you..._

The arrow hit bullseye.

And Teach...oh, Teach. She was wrapped in so many secrets he doubted even she could fully untangle the knot without help. Unnatural stoicism aside, even several weeks of listening to rumors and gossiping knights had given him little to no insight about why Jeralt had left the church's services. Everyone seemed to regard him highly despite the fact he technically deserted and hid from the archbishop for twenty years. They talked about how powerful he was, about the many missions he had completed in the face of absurd odds, how loyal he had been and how much he admired Lady Rhea. It was as if one day he'd suddenly decided he needed a change of scenery and that dealing with resignation paperwork was too much of a hassle, so he just packed up and vanished in the middle of the night.

A disappearance that took place mere days after a massive fire swept through the building, doing more damage in a single night than some actual military assaults had ever managed. Apparently a baby girl died in the fire; the two clerics he'd heard this from mostly remembered that because of how distraught the Archbishop had been over that particular death.

He couldn't help a slightly relieved smile when that arrow, then another one both hit bullseye. His heart calmed a bit at the perfect marks.

_The timing was a rather suspicious_... If that baby girl and his Teach were one in the same, that suggested that perhaps Archbishop Rhea wanted Jeralt back less than she wanted his daughter in arm's reach. ...Which would certainly explain why she would make a random young mercenary, particularly one with such a, well, _colorful _reputation as the Ashen Demon a professor at the academy in the face of all logic and Seteth's blatant disapproval.

Jeralt himself was a man of few words and plenty of scowls; Claude doubted his charming personality would make much of a dent in the man's unwillingness to talk about his past. And he really didn't want to have to explain himself to Teach if she found out he'd gotten her old man drunk, so out went _that _usually-reliable scheme. So instead he'd have to work on Teach herself; coax her to open up a bit.

_Why did you grow up away from the world? Why do you never smile? Why does watching Raphael and Ignatz acting like the old friends they are cause you to make that pained, confused expression? What is it that you want so badly you don't mind having your life upended to be Rhea's pet professor? _

_Why does the mercenary famous for her frozen heart care about protecting me? _

The next arrow went wide again. _Damn it all! _He'd come out here to _distract _himself, not vanish deeper and deeper down the bottomless swamp that was his mind. He let out a groan and stared up at the sky, wishing for his wyvern. A good long flight, where he could marvel at the world that seemed so small below him, always made him feel better.

He wondered what Teach would look like if she smiled. If even that cold, emotionless state couldn't obscure her unkempt beauty, what would a smile or a laugh do to her...?

“_Because I'm grateful. That you're not afraid of me. Or repulsed by me. I...had wanted...” _

_You wanted what? Tell me...._

His last arrow sank into the wooden leg of the target.

_Okay. Clearly this isn't working. _

Sighing, he let the bow rest by his side and went to collect the arrows again, this time to bring them back to the training armory. He'd read a bit until everyone else woke up – something nice and safe and bland, like the church-sanctioned biography of the Ten Elites. He'd barely gotten started on that before life decided to be _really _weird...

_I hope Hilda gets up soon, _He thought. _Watching her try to weasel out of training while Teach stands there with her arms crossed and frowning just a bit will _never _stop being funny. _

\+ _ + _ + _

Teach's style of whipping her group of 'brats', as Sir Jeralt ever so kindly called them, into actual knights...well, it was both very very obvious she wasn't trained to be a professor, yet her eye for their strengths and weaknesses allowed her an unorthodox, demanding yet capable instruction style.

In her case, 'demanding' meant treating the Golden Deer less like a group of polished nobles and rich merchant class hopefuls, and more like green recruits in her father's mercenary troupe. She frequently pitted them against each other and herself in sparring. She gave them strategic problems to solve that others would have saved for near graduation. She didn't run them into the ground, but she made few of the allowances that other instructors would have for noble students. She would pair them up based on how their abilities would work off each other, rather than any social cultivation for high society or social climbing. It was enough that Lorenz had complained quite a bit in the first few weeks about being treated 'like a commoner', but Byleth's stony refusal to yield and unimpressed scowls had quieted even him.

Claude _loved _it. Thrived in it. This was a _thousand _times better than that know-it-all priest who'd abandoned him, Dimitri and Edelgard to the bandits. Gods help him, but sometimes it reminded him of home.

What was even better was that mere observation showed him that it wasn't just him who was learning rapidly under Teach's stern instruction; Ignatz was making visible improvements, Lysithea had three new spells under her belt, Marianne had begun to focus on Reason as well as Faith...Hilda, for all that she moaned about the professor being a 'ruthless taskmaster', was picking up brawling with speed and style...Raphael was testing out heavy armor...Lorenz, once he quit complaining, was making decent progress with his lance as well. _Not nearly enough that Dimitri couldn't absolutely demolish him in a cross-class sparring session, _but he was improving!

It was why he felt confident when they left the Monastery to meet with Thunderstrike Catherine and her contingent of knights to clean up after the destruction of Lord Lonato's ill-thought-out rebellion. Even having the man's adoptive son in tow for reasons known only to the Archbishop and whatever gods existed didn't fully undermine that; he just decided to stick close to the kid in order to support him whenever he inevitably froze up.

Teach approved, when he sidled over to her to pass on his intention in a whisper. He swore that she looked pleased with him, though it only lasted for a brief moment.

Of course...it wouldn't be that easy. At the end of that day, he wondered if anything that came to pass after Byleth's arrival would be.

\+ _ + _ + _

It was raining. It was raining _and _foggy. Claude had to strain to see more than a couple yards ahead of them, and literally everything his father had ever warned him about the weather was echoing in his ears. The highway they were walking on right now, should it be a battlefield, was a seasoned warrior's nightmare – poor visibility, the ground rendered treacherous by mud and water, and any enemy they encountered would have the advantage of knowing the area very well. They were drawing closer to the border of Gaspard lands, after all.

He didn't say any of this out loud; between Hilda's constant complaining about being wet, Ignatz stopping every ten minutes to clean his glasses, Raphael bemoaning the quality of the lunch rations, Lorenz and Leonie's frequent bickering and Lysithea's dire threats about what she'd do to any knight that didn't surrender _immediately _after bringing them out here in this dead weather...class morale was not exactly stellar.

“Are we there yet?” Hilda whined plaintively.

“Will you _please _cut it out, Hilda? Somehow you're making the weather feel even worse,” Lysithea groused, her boots splashing in the mud. The shield Byleth had given her sat comfortably on her arm; she'd made a point of wearing it whenever practicing, so she got used to its weight and having it as protection.

“I can't believe it's been this bad for so long,” Ashe mumbled, pulling his coat tighter. “The skies were clear when we left the monastery...and it in this area, it doesn't usually rain hard unless it's early spring or mid fall.”

“It _is _rather strange,” Byleth murmured tonelessly, glancing up at the sky. She was wearing her usual gray cloak and heavy black boots, and while she didn't _look _cold, Claude swore that her sleeves were getting soaked through. Nothing even slightly akin to a complaint ever passed her lips. “It would be one thing if we were a week or so out from Garreg Mach when this started, but we're only a three day's march. The weather shouldn't be so drastically different.”

“Out on the ocean, sailors fear white squalls, because they appear without warning and great violence,” Marianne said, seemingly to herself. “I wonder if there's something similar for over land travel...”

“Well, over the ocean there's nothing to obstruct the winds,” Byleth responded, causing Marianne to squeak in surprise. “So it's easier for them to pick up speed. There is such a thing as cloudbursts, but they rarely last long and they don't usually come with fog. At least, I don't believe so.”

“Do you think this isn't natural, Teach?” Claude asked, tilting his head to look at her. This rain was driving him spare; he'd brought a cloak, but not a very heavy one, and his shoes had taken a bit of water when he had to climb over a tree a ways back.

Byleth looked sharply at him. “It's possible,” She said warily, her eyes flickering throughout the trees on either side of the path. “A strong dark mage could conjure fog, if they were learned enough. But rain as well? That I've never heard of.” She paused for a moment, frowning darkly. “Everyone be on your guard. Pair up.”

Pair up...Claude negligently waved for Ashe to join him while he marveled at the simplicity and strength in this maneuver Jeralt's Mercenaries had pioneered and perfected. Two people, usually with different weapons and fighting styles, who fought at each other's side at all times; one defending or supporting the other, switching places whenever necessary. Byleth had shown them members of the mercenary troupe practicing the maneuver, and even in a relaxed, restricted spar, it was incredible to behold.

Long practice kept him from cringing when Byleth explained that the maneuver's full value could only be achieved by two people who deeply trusted each other. He did appreciate it that she followed that up by having him and Hilda practice together; she was the closest thing he had to a true friend, and the Golden Deer he knew the best.

As of right now, though, he had sweet, innocent-as-a-lamb Ashe to worry about, so Hilda skipped over to Marianne and latched onto her old friend's arm. Leonie sighed heavily as Lorenz made a show of standing protectively in front of her, sliding her bow off her shoulder. Raphael slapped Ignatz on the back hard enough to make his friend stumble, laughing brightly. Lysithea floated over to Byleth, hovering at her shoulder and trying to stare into the fog.

“How do you do that?” Ashe asked him out of nowhere.

“Eh? How do I do what?” Claude put his hands behind his head and grinned at his fellow archer. “How do I be so effortlessly charming and good looking?”

Ashe quickly turned a dark shade of red – lord, it was adorable; were all boys from Faerghus this easy to tease? – “N-no, I-I mean – how do you smile like that right after noting that the enemy might be covering the fields in fog? That's...that's not good for us, if it's true, but you don't look worried at all.” He fidgeted. “His Highness said you were cracking jokes like nothing happened mere minutes after the Professor and Captain Jeralt saved you from the bandits. How do you manage that? Is there...something that makes it easier?”

Claude relaxed a bit and allowed himself to look a little more serious. “To be honest, not really. Smiling makes me feel more confident. There's no point worrying ourselves into a panic before the fighting even starts, right? Not that we're going to be doing any fighting.” _Hopefully._

Ashe tilted his head, eyes glittering. “...Does that work?” He fingered the grip of his bow anxiously. “I'd never thought of smiling when a fight started. It – it doesn't really seem right.”

“I get it,” Claude replied easily. “But think of it this way...are you smiling because you're happy you're in a bloody battle? Or are you trying to tell your friends that everything will be okay? One of those things will help everyone keep it together; the other is terrifying.” No lie. Claude loved his father until his heart bled, but it had taken some time before watching him grin while splitting someone in half with his ax was no longer frightening.

“Oh, I see.” Ashe thought about that for a moment, before hesitantly smiling back at him. It was wobbly and strained, but Claude didn't have the heart to comment on that. Instead he wondered, yet again, _why_ _in the eternal flames_ the Archbishop approved of Ashe coming with them.

“Hey there!” A boisterous voice echoed from the far end of the path. Hilda let out a whine of relief and picked up the pace, leading the pack as the bedraggled students rushed to meet their mission leader.

Sir Catherine laughed and clapped her hands together as the Golden Deer formed a rough semi-circle around her. The youngest knight of Serios to reach the rank of second-in-command at twenty-seven, the tall blonde woman was surprisingly cheery and friendly-looking. Given her rank and the trust Lady Rhea had in her, Claude had expected someone more akin to Seteth – that is, an uptight stick in the mud who's suspicious scowl was practically carved into her face. Instead, the famed swordswoman greeted them with a vibrant energy that emphasized her remarkable good looks.“You finally made it, good! What a day for a rebellion, huh? How are your kids holding up, Professor?”

A chorus of muffled complaints sounded from the others. Claude repressed a laugh and Catherine herself looked pretty amused.

“We've had little trouble so far, only discomfort.” Byleth responded, shifting her cloak slightly. “I'm a little worried about the terrain, to be honest, if there are stragglers. What's happening up ahead?”

“Assuming all went well, the main vanguard will have reached Castle Gaspard an hour ago,” Catherine said. Ashe went tense enough to shake; he looked like he might say something for a moment, but he only shook his head. “By the time we get there, they should have the castle and town under control. Our biggest worry should be displaced civilians and anyone who lingered in hopes of setting traps.”

“Traps...what sort are you expecting?”

Claude barely heard the exchange. His eyes were drawn to Catherine's side, where her hand was resting on the hilt of a sword unlike any he'd looked upon. A massive sword hung there, with no sheathe to speak of, protrusions like fangs jutting out from the main double-edged blade. It was a dull gold that seemed more like stone than any steel he'd ever seen, and a dully glowing red gem burned in the heart of the hilt. _This is Thunderbrand. This is a relic._

Briefly he remembered being a child, perched on the edge of his chair eagerly listening to his mother's stories of the relics. How the Fallen King Nemesis tore a mountain in half with the Sword of the Creator in order to defend the thralls fleeing from their demon-backed masters, how Blaiddyd Lord of the North fought half an army to a standstill wielding Areadbhar, how Lady Fraldarius deflected Meteor and Excaliber spells with the Aegis Shield to defend Gautier the Horselord as he drove back his former king's army at Tailtan Plains...how his own ancestor, Tempest Master Riegan, stormed an occupied castle on his lonesome to free his companions armed only with Failnaught and his not insignificant cleverness borne from years scraping by as an orphan.

His mother called them weapons of fate. They contained power so great they could tear down the borders of the world and reshape them to the will of their masters.

“Is there something on my coat, Riegan?”

He blinked and smiled charmingly at Lady Rhea's loyal enforcer. “Sorry, couldn't help myself. It's an honor to be accompanying Catherine, wielder of Thunderbrand. I hear your intimidating enough to silence the howling winds!”

Byleth tilted her head at him. “Thunderbrand?” She repeated blankly.

Claude nearly lost the battle with his will that kept him from gaping at her. _She can't be serious. I know she was raised away from the church, but she _can't _be serious. She doesn't expect us to believe..._

Catherine merely raised an eyebrow, drawing the sword from her hip and lifting it in one hand. “You mean Lady Rhea didn't tell you? The Archbishop bestowed Thunderbrand upon me when I entered her service. It's one of the Hero's Relics.” Byleth gives her the same deadpan look Claude has come to associate with her being confused by something, and amazingly Catherine _didn't_ immediately ask her to stop being ridiculous – she _had _to know, how could she not... “A long, long time ago, the goddess gifted ten warriors with divine weapons, which were then passed down to their children and their children's children.” She shrugged, letting the blade rest at her side. “It's an honor to wield, but I'm afraid there won't be much of a chance for that today. Our mission is to clean up the aftermath, not to fight.”

That seemed to be a bit more than Ashe could take. “Why would Lonato incite such a reckless rebellion?” He asked plaintively.

The look Catherine gave the smaller boy was sympathetic, but it also told Claude she bloody well knew why. “You would know more about that than any of us, Ashe.”

“Well I don't!” Ashe protested, shaking his head violently. “Lonato never mentioned anything of the like to me! He's always been so kind, _I don't understand..._” He frowned, his hand trembling on his bow. “I guess...it has something to do with Christophe...”

“Christophe?” Byleth prompted cautiously.

Ashe flinched; Claude came to his rescue with a matter-of-fact “How much do you know about the Tragedy of Duscur, Teach?”

Byleth blinked twice and crossed her arms. “I heard there was a massacre that only Prince Dimitri survived,” She said hesitantly. “We stayed south that year; many lords hired us in an attempt to restore order afterwards, but no two people told me the same thing about what happened.”

“Well, that's about the size of it,” Catherine said with a sigh. “Among the people Dimitri outlived was his father, the king. It's suspected that he was the sole intended target, and everything else was collateral damage.”

_I wonder about that... _Claude thought, his mind darting to the stolen letters hidden in his room. _Did they really mean to kill him but not Dimitri? _

Byleth seemed to wince. Her eyes flickered with thought, and she asked, “Why? I never met him, but the people I talked to had nothing but love for the man.”

“The common people loved him, yes. The lords, however?” Catherine sighed. “That's another story entirely. It became clear in the aftermath that those who instigated the massacre had accomplices in the kingdom as well. Lord Lonato's son, Christophe, was accused of being involved in the whole awful affair...he was executed by the church.”

“King Lambert was attempting a pretty significant political reform,” Claude offered, seeing as Teach's question was only partly answered. “And it's hard to do that without offending a lot of dangerous people.”

Byleth glanced at him, blinking, then back at Catherine. “I didn't realize the church executed criminals,” She said. Her quiet, even voice made it unclear if that was a question or an accusation.

“Speaking from the church's perspective, we took over the judicial matters in the stead of the kingdom, which was in complete chaos.” Catherine's response was so smooth and inoffensive it had to be rehearsed. “Whatever the truth of that matter may be, Lord Lonato has harbored resentment toward the church ever since.”

Ashe looked down at his feet. “I never knew,” He said in a small voice. “He never...I never...”

Claude was finally about to open his mouth and suggest that _maybe _Ashe shouldn't come with them to survey the wreckage when a soldier clad in the splendid, expensive armor of the Knights of Serios stumbled out of the treeline covered in dirt and blood. _You have _got _to be kidding me, _he thought dimly as the man rushed over to Catherine.

“Report,” He wheezed, “Sir Catherine, there's a force from Castle Gaspard coming straight for us.”

“_What_?!” Catherine barked, any trace of her affable stance vanishing like morning mist.

“Their numbers are far greater than we predicted,” The man gasped, clutching his side. Marianne hesitantly raised one hand and cast her newest spell – Physic. The knight looked about, gave her a grateful smile and rapidly said, “This dense fog is the work of a dark mage serving Lord Lonato; they used it to slip past our perimeter. What's coming _is _their main force – all that was waiting for us in Castle Gaspard was a skeleton staff, his two children and his confused servants.”

“Y-You're kidding...they're coming straight for us?!” Ignatz sputtered, terrified.

“That's most of Gaspard land's standing army,” Lorenz said numbly.

Claude said a number of words he'd learned from Felix when they'd been paired up for cooking duty and notched an arrow. “He knew when to expect us,” He muttered, mostly to himself. “He must have been told what to expect at the beginning of the month; information doesn't travel this quickly, especially not enemy marching orders.” _Which means Garreg Mach has a very important turncoat. _

Catherine scowled, clearly both hearing and agreeing with him, and brought Thunderbrand to bear. “It looks like our mission has just changed, Professor. All of you, prepare for battle!”

“Get away from the trees! I want you in the center of the path!” Byleth actually _shouted_ – Claude nearly jumped out of his skin, because he was fairly certain he'd _never _heard her speak above monotone before – as she drew her sword. “They'll be coming out of the woods! Leonie, Ignatz, Ashe, guard our mages; and I want you watching for snipers! Raphael, Lorenz, Hilda, you're up front! Lysithea, Marianne, until we get our bearings I want you on healing duty and lighting torches!” She turned toward him. “Claude, I'm leading ahead. You shadow me; you're hunting for that damned dark mage. Killing them should disperse the fog, and I want it gone before we're overrun!”

Claude barely had time to nod before a fighter burst out of the treeline. “Lord Lonato doesn't deserve such sadness an anger,” the militia man in cheap leather bellowed. “Now it's your turn to suffer!”

Lysithea threw Miasma over Lorenz's shoulder, catching the man in the chest. Leonie followed that up with a shot that curved gracefully and struck the man in the collar, sending him stumbling to the ground. Already leagues better than her work in Zanado.

Civilian militia. Then most of these men would be... As he ran to keep up with Byleth, he looked back for Ashe, who was shaking so badly he couldn't see how the other boy intended to aim, much less shoot anyone down. The kid would know these people. They lived in the villages around Gaspard manor. They worked in the marketplaces he would have visited._ He knew _them, and they him.

_Rhea, why the _fuck _did you let him come with us?! _

Arrows whipped through the fog, one missing him by an arms-length. Byleth was off like a shot, fading into the fog just before a woman's agonized shriek rang out. Claude saw Catherine zip off in another direction, magnificently unconcerned by her lack of backup, and a hot red flare cut through the fog as another person died with gurgling cry.

More men materialized out of the trees and fog. Axes and bows, mostly...no armor or lance knights, which was weird, given what the kingdom was famous for. “What the hell?” One of them said amidst the confusion. “These are a bunch of kids. Where the are knights?”

“Does it matter?! They were sent here to bring back Lord Lonato's head! Come on!”

“So we're dealing with _that _kind of crazy,” Leonie griped somewhere behind him. “Oh, that's just perfect – hey, Lorenz! On your left!”

“Be careful, Ignatz!” The glorious light of a magical torch washed over the muddy, ruined earth in a wide sweep around them; Marianne jammed it into the ground and quickly cast Heal on Lorenz, who had caught an arrow to the shoulder.

Claude swore when another militia man charged at him. He slid back a step, brought up his bow, and let the arrow loose as the man got right up in his face. The resulting blood splatter hit his cheek and his lips as the eye it hit was destroyed; fortunately the arrow lodged far enough in to kill the man instantly. _Perfect Point Blank, _he thought dully, _and I'm using it on farmers. _

Something cold was forming in the pit of his stomach; he tried to ignore it as he hurried forward, doing his best to keep Byleth in the corner of his eye despite the fog. As he moved, he searched, straining his eyes, for a dark costume and the tell-tale flicker of black aether. _He'll be hiding in the trees, _the schemer thought. _He can't be far away if he's maintaining the fog. so...that means...gods, I wish I could fucking _see_..._

“You're irrelevant!” Lysithea's shout and the following explosion of dark magic – Swarm, judging by the hideous buzzing noise it made as it consumed the unfortunate target – was comforting in a strange way. His classmates were keeping up, Marianne lighting another torch that brought blessed light to the area.

“Guess I've got no choice!” “I'm so sorry!” "I'm on a roll!" “Get away from me!” “An offensive sight!” “I'll keep this simple!” “I've got you!”

_None of this had to happen, _Claude thought, even though his relief at knowing his classmates were handling themselves. He shot down another fighter, and then another, hurrying toward the fork in the road where Byleth was dodging between two more enemies.

He took care of one with two consecutive shots, allowing her to cut the other one down. Catherine was on the militia coming up the left pathway in seconds; red flares followed every swipe of the sword, which blurred and struck _twice _for every single swing in spite of Claude's eyes telling him she couldn't possibly have moved her arm that fast. _Heat _followed every strike, sizzling in the air and turning the rain that hit it to steam.

An archer took aim at Byleth. Claude ran forward a few steps, aimed, and fired. His first shot went wide, but the man simply couldn't prepare himself in time to dodge the next one. The trouble with fog, of course, was that it made life difficult for their enemies as well.

“Lord Lonato,” The man choked, curling up around the arrow in his stomach. “Please...don't die...”

The young prince swallowed over the bile rising in his throat. “The nobles start the war, but it's the commoners who spill their blood first,” he whispered to himself. That cold feeling intensified, spreading to his hands. _If I want to unseat Rhea, change the person controlling the doctrine of Sothis, will I be the one to...? _

“Claude, there! In the trees!”

Byleth's shout snapped him back to the moment; he whirled and saw the blast of dark magic right before it was launched his way. Dropping to the ground, he rolled forward and back to his feet (_he'd have to thank Dimitri at some point_) grabbing his bow and firing one arrow, then another. It was hard to hit with the underbrush in the way, but his father always said he had good eyes. Thinking back to the combat artes Teach had so carefully explained, he bent his bow in his hands, lined up another shot and fired.

The dark mage let out a gurgling scream, staggering, falling through the trees. A second arrow put him out of his misery, and the effect was almost instantaneous. A bright light flared across the battlefield, followed by a strangled hiss as all that fog disappated at once, evaporating as though it ever was. Rain still gently fell upon them _(as if some god, somewhere, was in fact weeping_), but the clouds parted, sunlight beamed down on the bloody, corpse-strewn battlefield, and everything became clear.

Relieved, Claude glanced over at Byleth and smiled as warmly as he could manage in the face of his discomfort. She nodded back before turning around, taking a headcount as Hilda and the others rushed up to them.

“How is everyone?” Byleth asked, looking around.

“Need you ask, Professor?” Lorenz responded lightly. “We are putting your instruction into practice. The Lord of Gaspard has much to answer for, throwing untested rabble at us to die.”

“Where's Catherine?” Hilda asked. “Not, uh, not that I think she _needs_ our help, but shouldn't we be sticking close to her?”

Shouts – and the clanking of armor – rang out from beyond the thicket. The Golden Deer house exchanged a single look before rushing forward as a single unit, the understanding shared between them without a word – there was no victory until Lord Lonato fell.

The scene they came upon on the other side of the fork in the road was almost something out of a book; Catherine stood among the corpses of several heavily armored knights, staring down a wall of knights and fighters lead by an old man astride his horse, lance in hand.

“Thunderstrike Cassandra,” The old man snarled. He had a dignified sort of voice, unsuited to the animalistic snarl he applied to every word. “It was your wretched zealotry that killed my son! Dishonored him before his people! Threw his corpse at me to bury in a field far from sacred ground, as if he were a based heathen...!”

_This is Ashe's father...so that's how he found out about Christophe's death? When he was sent the body? _People were only barred from being buried on church grounds when they had committed heresy. It was considered an ultimate punishment of Fodlan, denying one's soul the ability to return to the goddess. _That was cruel, if that's what they did...Christophe and the Gaspard name never came up in those transcripts I read. I'm willing to bet he wasn't anywhere near Duscur. If that's so..._

The blonde knight snorted, unmoved. “The only name I answer to is Catherine,” She informed him, readying Thunderbrand with an ease that told him she was not at all intimidated by the forces arrayed against her. “Prepare to taste the blade of one who serves the goddess. Now you face a Knight of Serios!”

“Kill her! Bring me her head!” Lonato roared, sending his troops forward. Troops armed with iron and steel, against a woman wielding a relic. _Fool...you grief-blind fool. _

“Better keep them busy,” He told Byleth grimly. “I'll go around.”

Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth for a moment without saying anything. She eyed him...almost anxiously...before saying, “Be careful. I'll be right behind you.”

Claude smiled and gave her a small bow before darting off to the side, stepping among the trees and letting the lower visibility hide him from the lance knights that were running into Catherine's sword. Hilda and Raphael rushed the two soldiers, Marianne blasting clean through the helmet of one knight approaching her with a single Blizzard, Ignatz taking potshots wherever he could.

It took him a handful of minutes to approach Lord Lonato from the side, eyeing him warily. The man wore heavy armor, as did his horse. It probably couldn't build up much speed weighed down like that, but if he were to charge and try to run someone down...Claude felt a knee-jerk sense of distaste at where his thoughts immediately took him, but he readied his bow regardless. It was an ugly trick, yeah...but it would save his classmates.

“Lonato!”

Claude nearly dropped his damned bow when Ashe _somehow _slipped past the melee surrounding Catherine, Teach and their classmates to approach his adoptive father. The other boy's bow hung down by his knee, his quiver virtually empty; he just reached pleadingly for the man who took him in when he had nothing.

It wasn't quite obvious from where he was standing, but Claude was pretty sure he saw Lonato's eyes grow really wide for a moment. But...it was _only _a moment. Then his face snapped back to the cold rage that he had thrown at Catherine – Cassandra. “Stand down, Ashe. I must destroy these evil-doers by any means necessary!”

“Please surrender, Lonato!” Ashe begged, taking another step forward. “Whatever your reasons for doing this, w-we can still talk it out! I – I'll plead for you, the archbishop-”

“Speak not of that devil woman,” Lonato snapped. “Rhea is an infidel who is deceiving the people and desecrated the goddess!” _What the hell?, _Claude thought fuzzily as he steadied his bow again._ What did that have to do with Christophe? _“We have virtue and the goddess herself on our side!”

“The goddess would have you kill my fellow students?” Ashe asked in disbelief. “It's – it's _virtue _that brought all those villagers out here to die?! Even if that's true, why did you bring them into this?!”

“Your classmates have been reduced to pawns of that witch! Do you think it was an accident that she sent you all out here?! She wanted to threaten you with the consequences of defying her obscene whims!” Lonato's horse stalked forward a few paces. Claude's heartbeat picked up as he crawled to the edge of the treeline. “Do you think it matters a jot to her if any of you die, when she has thousands of believers in her thrall?! She thinks nothing of you, nothing but minds to mold into her pet murderers! We _must _set Fodlan free from her grasp! Only then will everyone have justice!”

“Lonato, that's crazy. Justice?” Ashe's voice broke. “How many people would have to _die _in the name of 'justice'? Please, I'm begging you...Christophe is gone...”

“Christophe was murdered!” Lonato raged. “If you will not stand aside and allow your brother to be avenged, then you leave me no choice. If that's how you feel, prepare yourself! I'm putting an end to this!”

Claude's eyes widened as the man took a javelin from his pack and threw it. By either a miracle or a chink in the man's resolve in only grazed Ashe's shoulder, sending the boy stumbling backwards with a startled, agonized cry. Lonato moved to urge his horse forward, dropping his other hand to the base of his lance.

_He's going to kill his own son._

With that thought, the coldness rushed forward and swallowed up his heart in its icy maw.

Hitting the horse in the neck wasn't hard. There were gaps in its armor that might have been hard for Leonie to exploit...but Claude had been hunting ever since he was a child, and his arrow flew true. He strode out of the woods with an eerie calm blanketing him as the horse collapsed, throwing Lonato in the process. The old man scrambled to get up, looking around wildly until he saw him.

Claude's lip curved in revulsion. “Kinslayer,” he said, his voice so serene it belied the snowstorm raging inside him. “Child killer. I'll admit, they weren't words I would have associated with the Lord of Gaspard in the face of the love Ashe bears for you.”

“You...” Lord Lonato all but snarled; vaguely, Claude thought it reminded him of a wolf infected with rabies. Something once beautiful and majestic laid low in filth and ruin. “How dare you? I march to avenge the murder of my son, butchered by that fanatic and her puppetmaster-”

“I'm sorry, is there a prettier word for a man who'd kill his son?” Claude asked, an exaggerated note of innocence in his voice. “I'm afraid I'm not nearly as verbose as Lorenz, so I have to make do with the basics.” He took out an arrow, idly twirling it around his fingers. “Though, I suppose you figured that since you planned to die here, your lifeblood would provide you some sort of atonement for that little crime?”

Lord Lonato's expression paled slightly. “You know _nothing!_” He staggered a bit – clearly one of his legs was injured by the fall – and tried to charge at him. Claude rolled his eyes, raised his bow and fired. The arrow skimmed the man's cheek, stabbing his ear, and let Claude simply dance around the man with ease. “You _understand_ nothing! My son is defiled, his soul cursed to wander, on a lie! My gentle, devout son, who served the goddess every day-”

“What would you say when you saw him again?” Claude asked sarcastically. “Yes, son, I avenged you; I slaughtered your younger brother like a fawn in the butcher shop and walked over the corpses of his friends to reach the Archbishop. The memory of your compassion and kindness was so precious to me I'd spit on it by murdering someone who mattered to you because he tried to talk me out of my suicide attempt. I value what you held dear so much I discarded it like a pebble in my boot so I could kill a teenager unhindered by his love for me.”

“Shut _UP!_” Lonato spun to face him again, thrusting his lance forward._ “_You indoctrinated _brat_, how _dare _you presume what Christophe-”

“What? I dare presume that he loved Ashe in spite of him being adopted? In spite of him being a commoner? I dare presume he was a decent, kind man who disapproved of the killing of children? I wonder precisely what's become of you that you think those are shameful traits to assign someone.”

“Lonato, Claude, please, I, I,” Ashe was beyond coherent words at this point; Byleth rushed up behind him, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him to his feet.

“Get him out of here, Teach.” Claude's attention didn't waver. “I'm seriously afraid he'll let this walking corpse drag him into his grave.”

“There is no grave here but Rhea's!”

“Oh _really_? So a militia half the size of the Knights of Serios is going to walk up to one of the most strategic locations in Fodlan and...do what, exactly? Force your way in, past their stockpiled weapons, past the reinforcements they'd have plenty of time to call upon before you reached them, past the ballista and the magical defenses, and kill the archbishop? Please.” Claude fired another arrow at him, watching him dodge. “No. You want her to look ruthless. You want her to look savage. What better way to do that than have her slaughter villagers armed with woodcutter's axes and fire pokers because a bereaved father wanted answers from her?”

“This is a righteous cause! The goddess will see us through! She'll protect us until we've deposed the devil lounging in her castle!” Lonato lunged at him, but it was so clearly telegraphed that he barely needed to dodge.

“I have a little theory, if you'd spare me a minute.” Claude said, his lips curving into a cruel smile. “You want to die. You've wanted to die ever since Christophe's body was given back to you. You spend nights awake, wondering why he died, what he got involved in, why he never told you anything that made you realize he was in danger. You blame yourself, you blame Catherine, you blame everyone but him for whatever decision he made that put him on the church's list.”

Lonato's wild jab missed him by an arms-length. He jumped back a bit, keeping light on his feet, keeping moving. “But it's _shameful_ to just drink a little more wine than was responsible, and that doesn't get Chrisophe any justice. So instead you figured that you'd make yourself a martyr; goad the Archbishop into ordering the death of a grieving man who'd lost everything, convince other people to be suspicious of her, maybe force her to step down. You want more, you want her to die, but you're weak, you've been weak ever since Christophe died, and you don't want to spend years struggling to depose her. You just want to see him again.”

Lonato is starting to shake, tremble, his attacks weaker and easier to avoid. Claude wasn't smiling now; he bared his teeth like a wyvern. “You want it so much you haven't thought about Ashe. You haven't thought about how the minor lords will circle him like vultures, poking at his past, looking for excuses to take the castle, lands and titles out from under him. You haven't thought about his siblings, who will have to live years and years with the shame and the stigma of your failed rebellion hanging over them. You haven't thought about your lands and how they'll be left to a boy who's barely started his knightly training, who's never done any administration in his life, with winter approaching in the wings and so many men who would have tilled the fields dead.”

“You cannot...” Lord Lonato gasped, his leg buckling beneath him. He was so pale now he was practically a ghost. “You...you...”

“Martyrdom sounds so pretty in the songs, doesn't it?” Claude mused. “If you were canonized, even just in the eyes of the people, Christophe's transgressions – real or otherwise – would be forgotten in an instant. He'd probably be moved to a church burial ground. A happy ending, for a man who values his dead son over his living one to the point he'd try to kill him.”

Lonato simply stared at him for long moment. “You're a devil,” He whispered, clutching his lance.

Claude laughed harshly. “I'm not the one who just threw a spear a boy who loved me unconditionally.” He growled, taking a step forward. “I'm not the one who looked at the boy who I taught to write, who I watched grow up, who worships me and models his honor and ethics upon me, and tried to kill him. I'm not the one who listened to him plead for my life, pour out his love for me, promise to risk the archbishop's wrath on my behalf, and spat on that affection. If I'm a devil, Lord Lonato, what does that make you?”

And, as if slowly succumbing to poison, Lonato sank to his knees. “My...my sons...”

“So you wanted to die,” Claude said. “But you couldn't do them the kindness of dying without dragging all of them down with you. You brought fathers and mothers out here to die useless deaths in order to comfort yourself. You tried to kill your son. Tell me, why didn't you just quietly send Ashe to bed and drink a cup of nightshade? What would Christophe have been less horrified by?”

He stopped walking when he was standing right in front of the man. Lonato stared up at him. All the fight, all that fire in his eyes...it was just gone. Drained away.

“So you wanted to see him again?” Claude whispered, taking aim. “Fine. I'll send you there.”

The arrow hitting home sounded so loud in the rain. It only took one. Older bodies are frail, after all.

Claude stared down at the cooling corpse lying broken at his feet. The rain was starting to soak through his cloak. That cold feeling in his chest didn't abate, not right away, but there was a certain sick feeling in his stomach.

_A devil, huh...aha...ha...and there I was, thinking about how Dimitri had something dark inside him..._

“Claude?” Teach's voice sounded right behind him. Quiet and soft as ever.

He hesitantly turned to face her. Mortification mingled with that coldness. How much of that had she been watching?

She gazed deep into his eyes, as though she were trying to read his soul, and quietly asked, “Are you okay?”

“...You should really ask Ashe that, Teach.” The words slipped out without him thinking.

“That would be a useless question, though, wouldn't it?” She shook her head. Dimly Claude realized he could hear someone crying...the sort of uncontrollable wailing that followed the loss of all composure and dignity. “Are you okay, Claude?”

“...” He readied himself for a lie...and yet... “No. I'm not.”

She stared at him for another moment. Halfheartedly he wished, once again, that she was easier to read. Then...then she reached out and took his hand, gently tugging on his wrist. “Come on,” She murmured. “Let's get out of here.”

For once in his life at a loss for what to say, Claude let her lead him away from the body. Amidst all of the confusing feelings in his chest, he felt a spark of warmth. _...Thank you..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh...yeah. This chapter got away from me a bit.
> 
> Lonato...I can't pity him because he's willing to straight-up kill Ashe. I'm sorry, but that's beyond the pale. Ashe loves him. Ashe doesn't want to fight him. And Lonato is still willing to KILL him, kill that little boy he raised, taught to read, sent off to become a knight. And don't tell me it's a gameplay thing because they had this same dilemma with Alm and Rudolf, and Rudolf never attacked his son. And Rudolf was a would-be tyrant! 
> 
> Now...onto Claude. I love Claude to bits and pieces, but it has occurred to me that the game never really dives into his dark side (he is the schemer, after all) the way it does with Dimitri and Edelgard. Now, I actually don't mind this a whole lot because I like how he contrasts with his fellow protagonists because of that. ...But I do think it's a bit of a missed opportunity. 
> 
> What Claude does in this chapter...he does it mostly to protect Ashe from Lonato, partly to spare the poor kid from having to be involved in Lonato's death...and partly because what he saw really pissed him off, and he knows how to crawl into people's heads and tear them apart. It's saved his life before. 
> 
> No, he didn't enjoy doing it...but if poison will save his protectorates, he'll use it. He says so himself, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth cooks, contemplates, and takes a stab at comforting someone.

“Flayn, no, no – you never add spices to cookie dough.”

“Oh? I am so sincerely sorry!” The green haired girl cried, wilting. Mercedes smiled patiently in turn, taking the containers from her and placing them back on the shelf. “I had thought the flour and butter needed to mix with something else to cook with flavor!”

“It's _sugar _I was referring to_._” Mercedes responded, altogether too kind to ask where the shorter girl had gotten the impression that one should add _any _sort of spices to cookies. She reached up and brought down one of the stone jars; Byleth wasn't sure how she could read the carved label from that angle, but the blonde girl was clearly familiar with the kitchen and where everything was. “Here, let me show you how much we need. Professor, how is the butter?”

Byleth stared doubtfully at the bowl on the counter before her. “I've made some progress...I think,” She said hesitantly. She prodded the smooth pool of yellow with a wooden spoon, frowning at its continued resistance to the beating she'd been giving it. “It's still stiff.”

Mercedes paused in her measuring to look over her shoulder. “Don't worry. Creaming takes a little while, and it's coming along very well! Keep it up.” With that, the other girl – a year or two older than Byleth herself – squeezed her arm encouragingly before turning back to Flayn. “Alright, look at the directions, tell me how much sugar we need to add...”

Byleth hesitantly stirred the butter around so more, feeling more out of place than when she'd first stepped foot in the Golden Deer classroom. She'd _never _worked in the kitchen whenever the troupe had been given access to one, usually as a thank-you gesture from the village inn for their work – Hannah always took charge then, kicking her father (and the rest of the men for that matter) out of the room, and put together the best meal they'd have for the foreseeable future. Yet here she was, fumbling with ingredient jars under Mercedes's patient instructions.

...It was for Ashe.

Ever since they'd returned from Magdred Way, Byleth had been in a state of frustrated discomfort in spite of – or perhaps _because _of – their victory. Ashe had sobbed like a child until he passed out after Lonato's death; Raphael had taken to carrying him after the first few times he stumbled, unable to keep his feet under him on the walk back. The young archer was so distraught he didn't even attempt to protest it; Marianne walked alongside him, alternating between prayers for the passing of the souls and singing in an attempt to comfort him.

One of the Knights of Serios, disgruntled by how everything had turned out, had lowly muttered about how undignified the display was. Before Byleth could retort, Marianne had turned around, skewered the man with a look she'd been unable to see herself, and coldly demanded he apologize. He did so, under Sir Catherine's withering glare.

Ignatz and Leonie had flittered back and forth, radiating distress and discomfort in spite of Claude's offhanded reassurance that they'd done the best thing they could in this situation. Marianne had walked with her head hanging, the grief that hung over her like a shroud seemingly heavier than ever. Lysithea and Lorenz were the calmest, and the white haired girl seemed largely grave, eyes closed as if lost in memory in many moments.

And Claude... Claude had taken one look at her, buried the unnerving persona he'd used to kill Lord Lonato, and after a few hours of uncharacteristic quiet, started talking and lightly joking as though nothing troubled him at all.

He had told her he was a liar, hadn't he?

Byleth did not like the foreign sensation of helplessness that sank into her bones as she observed this, completely at a loss for what to do. So she resolved to skulk about until she found something resembling a solution.

Admittedly, Ashe had been on her mind most prominently. Upon their return to Garreg Mach, he'd retreated to his room and hid within. His classmates had brought him dinner yesterday, of which he ate very little. In the night, Byleth had woken at the sound of someone walking past her room; going out to investigate had revealed Ashe in a night cloak heading into the monastery. She'd followed him at a distance as he went through the entrance hall, along the bridge and into the cathedral, where he'd knelt before the statute of Saint Cichol and prayed with shaking breaths for his adoptive father's salvation.

She didn't show herself. Perhaps she should have, but it felt wrong to intrude. Instead she shadowed him, making sure he got safely back to his room. Mercedes had found her standing outside his door the next morning, hand raised as if to knock, paralyzed with indecision as she tried to remember how her father had spoken to the families of men who had died during their missions. The gentle priestess-to-be had smiled, squeezed her arm, and asked if she would be willing to lend a hand with her own plan.

And that was how the Ashen Demon, living god of war, ending up fighting to a draw with the bowlful of butter-that-refused-to-be-creamed.

“I see! So it was the pinch of salt that adds flavor to the batter,” Flayn gasped with earnest enthusiasm. “I had not thought it would take so little!”

“Flavor boosters are always meant to be used sparingly,” Mercedes explained. “Or else they overwhelm the meal to the point of spoiling it. Now, we need leaven, and no more than the salt that you just added. Do you know where it is?”

Byleth twisted the spoon in her hands, continuing to mash away at the stubborn yellow mass with an odd sense of righteous frustration. _This has no right to be so difficult, _she thought indigently. _I ought to apologize to Hannah. Clearly I've never been properly grateful for the number of times she cooked for us over the years. _

“Aha!” Flayn snagged one of the smaller gray stone jars from the middle shelf and presented it to Mercedes with the beaming smile that seemed to be her default expression. “This is it, is it not?”

“Yes it is,” Mercedes looked like she was trying to suppress an amused giggle. “Thank you, Flayn.”

Byleth set the bowl down on the counter, unsure if she could improve any further, and walked over to the oven. Heat blasted her face as she opened the door to check the embers and charcoal; Mercedes had made a point of explaining that different foods cooked at different temperatures, so she shifted the burning stones around a bit with a fire poker before retreating. The temperature in the kitchen was teetering on the edge of being greatly uncomfortable; they were nearing summer, and the warm weather penetrated even the lowest stone floors of Garreg Mach. That was the reason Mercedes wanted to occupy the kitchen earlier, before the cooks filled the kitchen to prepare dinner; that would have made the endeavor truly more difficult than it had any right to be.

“Well done, professor,” Mercedes's voice drew her attention away from the blasted heat; the blonde was carefully pouring the other ingredients into the butter bowl. “I'm glad to have help; it makes the work go by faster to have good company.”

“You're sure that's good enough?” Byleth asked, fidgeting a bit. “I had not thought it completely smooth yet.”

“Oh, it's _perfect, _really. A few small lumps here and there are no trouble at all.” Mercedes began to stir, slowly and carefully so as not to spill the flour. “Now all we need are the chocolate pieces and the trays, and then all that's left to do is wait.”

Flayn's eyes lit up, and she darted down the kitchen hallway, throwing herself to her knees to pull the iron trays out from under a lower oven rung.

“She's so cheerful,” Mercedes said with a smile. “It's too bad she isn't a fellow student. I think she'd be happier spending almost all of her time with other people.” She tapped her finger against her chin. “Or maybe apprenticing in the kitchen...once she's gotten better at reading the cookbooks!”

Byleth nodded slightly. Flayn was an...odd figure, around the monastery. She could often be found flitting about the greenhouse and the fishing docks, and would happily talk to anyone who would spare her a moment of their time; but no one really_ knew _anything about her, except that she was Bishop Seteth's little sister. Apparently he'd simply turned up on the doorstep one day with her in tow, asking for sanctuary since their home had been invaded by some unknown thugs and he was worried about her safety. Flayn herself, when questioned, would babble nervously about her childhood in Enbarr and how pretty it was and how much she missed it, clearly uncomfortable with any questions into where she'd been before now. She was also prone to a very formal, anachronistic style of speaking and occasionally would say entire sentences in Old Fodlanese of all languages – seemingly without noticing. Seteth, apparently, was very proud of his sister's knowledge of old tongues.

Despite the oddities, though, Byleth...strangely didn't mind Flayn frequently accosting her on her day off, begging for a fishing partner. The green haired girl talked a lot, but she didn't mind Byleth's responses being short and to the point. She just seemed...well, happy. Innocently, sweetly happy.

“Here we go!” Flayn raised the two trays with a triumphant smile, as though she'd snatched them from the very jaws of death. “Two trays for many cookies! For Ashe's good health!”

“Yes indeed,” Mercedes said with a fond smile. Then she grabbed Byleth's hand and pressed two spoons into her palm. “Now remember not to make them too big or too small, or else they won't cook evenly.” Unperturbed by the professor staring at the utensils as if they were foreign objects, she steered her in front of one of the trays and placed the batter bowl between them. “Make them just a bit bigger than the spoon, and that should be perfect.”

“Um...right...” Byleth managed. She hovered on the spot for a moment, watching carefully as Mercedes scooped some of the dough out and rolled it out onto the tray. She judged the size, frowning with concentration, and then set about her task.

Was it strange, how awkward she felt doing such a mundane task? Unbidden, she remembered Claude's question about what she liked to do in her spare time. Outside of fighting. Outside of the sword. She bit her lip, carefully scraping another round dough ball onto the tray.

Mercedes slipped a pair of thick mitts over her hands and grabbed a tray in each hand. Flayn skittered around her, pulling the oven door open so she could place them in side by side. When the door slapped closed, the older girl sighed contently and said, “All right! It'll take about half an hour for them to cook, so if you two want to take care of some small thing or another, feel free. And thank you, again, for helping.”

Byleth nodded, bowed slightly, and excused herself with a half grunt of acknowledgment. Something in the back of her head _(surprisingly not Sothis_) called the gesture unfriendly; she argued back that a professor needed to be somewhat aloof. That little voice reminded her that she didn't know the first thing about proper professional teaching; that she had resorted to training her students as mercenary recruits while ordering them to do the necessary (or at least curriculum-required) readings on their own time. She protested that it was working, the voice noted that Lord Glouester would probably have a stroke if he knew that she was having his son up to his elbows in dirt weeding the gardens weekly, Duke Riegan would be offended by her assigning Claude tend to the pegasi and clean the stables, and Lord and Lady Ordelia might keel over when they saw what she had their fragile daughter reading.

“Whoa!” Distracted as she was, Byleth walked directly into something warm and _hard_; utterly unbalanced, she scrabbled for a handhold as her legs buckled and dug her fingers into a pair of very broad shoulders. “Hey there, professor!” Raphael said, wrapping one strong arm around her waist and saving her from a very embarrassing tumble. “Didn't see you there.”

“Neither did I,” Byleth mumbled, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I'm sorry.”

“Ah, it's nothing Prof. These muscles don't bruise easily!” Raphael pulled her forward a bit to help her reorient herself and stand up straight. “You okay?”

“Of course.”

Her student's brow furrowed a bit. “Are you sure? You have that dark face that Ignatz gets sometimes when he's worrying about something and thinking really hard.”

“That is...” She crossed her arms, frowning slightly. “I suppose I am a bit concerned for Ashe.” _And Claude. _“He didn't eat much yesterday, or the day before. His classmates are fretting.”

Raphael's expression eased with understanding and a gentle look of compassion that softened his rough-looking face. “Yeah...I can't say I'm surprised. It was pretty awful what he saw back there. We managed to get a handful of those guys to surrender and go home, but the rest of them just kept coming until they died. Then his pa went and...did what he did,” he frowned at that. “It'll be a while before he's really normal, Prof. But he really shouldn't stay shut up in his room like that. I know the lions want to give him his space, but if he just spends all his time lying there, he won't be able to think about anything but how sad he is.”

“...I suppose so,” Byleth hedged, twisting her heel in the dirt. “I am uncertain how to proceed, though. If he doesn't have the strength to do anything, I'm not sure how we might compel him to.”

“Treat it like a normal day,” Raphael replied without hesitation. “Just knock on his door, tell him he's expected, walk off before he can protest, come back in ten minutes if he doesn't show up. Bring food or water with you. Tell him you've got a little thing for him to do – just one little, easy to do thing you don't have time to manage – and when he's done he can go and rest if he needs to. Keep that up, and eventually he'll start coming out on his own.” He grinned. “My little sis did that to me a whole bunch once. Got me back on my feet.”

_You were...? _“I see. I...shall attempt that, then.” She let her arms rest at her sides again. “Perhaps Hannamen should be the one doing so, but I commanded him during the mission...I think – well, I ought to see to him until the aftermath is settled, shouldn't I?”

Raphael let out a little laugh, a booming sound that made her flinch back a bit at the sheer volume. The boy had a pair of impressive lungs on him, benefiting his size. “You worry an awful lot, Prof! It's kinda nice, you know. If you need any help dragging Ashe into doing something all gentle-like, let me know.”

“Okay.” She said hesitantly, then felt her lips twitch upward when he grinned at her. “Are you heading up to train? Felix is in there right now, and he can be rather intense. Don't take whatever he says too seriously.”

“Ah, yeah! He's awfully serious, isn't he? No worries, Prof. I can handle him. See you later!” With that, Raphael continued his way up the path toward the training grounds.

Byleth looked about, having been sufficiently distracted from her thoughts, and wondered what she should do with the small intervening time she had. After a moment, she found her feet carrying her down the pathway toward the docks, letting the breeze card through her hair and soothe her warm skin. The sun bore down on them from a cloudless sky as she stepped around the kids playing tag near the greenhouse and past the dockmaster. Her shoes clacked on the wooden dock until she was at the edge of it, staring across the lake in front of which the monastery had been built.

The smell of wind over the lake and the soft lap of the ripples against the dock legs welcomed her as she sat down, taking off her shoes and socks and dipping her feet into the cool, crystal clean water. Closing her eyes, Byleth thought to herself, _Rhea is very calm for a woman who has been targeted for an assassination._

_Hm, _Sothis hummed in agreement. _That is true. Mind you, this is her seat of power. I find it difficult to imagine how these foes might penetrate through all that is here to protect her. _

_They must have considered that, _Byleth pointed out. _The high lords believe they're safe in their castles, boast of it even as they drink from poisoned goblets. If whoever had done this was working with Lonato, they must have planned for multiple results that his crusade made possible. _

_If they were to plan for his failure, how would they do so?_

_They might have moved a mole of theirs into position during the confusion last month, _Byleth suggested, letting her feet splash in and out of the water. _They may have hoped to remove Catherine from the equation, either by injury or death...or by having her preoccupied with patrols while the assassin moves about within the monastery. We're presuming that Lord Lonato was working _with _this mysterious person or persons, but what if _they _were working _through _him? Corrupt lords, magistrates and merchants much prefer to work through disposable pawns. _

_Working through him...hm..._ In her mind's eye, Sothis leaned on the arm of her throne, her expression thoughtful. _That sounds familiar, somehow. I wonder why..._

_...It's strange that you can't seem to remember anything, _Byleth thought wonderingly. _You have such immense power, yet you're restricted to being but a voice in my head who can only offer me your magic through some strange bond between us. _

_Do not remind me, _Sothis grumbled. _If I had been able to influence your body, I would have prevented you from that silly romantic hero nonsense you pulled, nearly throwing both of us into the next life. _

_Are you ever going to let that go?, _Byleth thought, a bit disgruntled. _I told you, I panicked and moved without thinking. I've yet to make such a mistake again! _

_That is true, so far, _Sothis said with a damning chuckle. _However, watching you fret and mother these delinquents is enough to make me concerned. You're awfully invested in them for a cold-hearted mercenary!_

_They're my charges, _Byleth responded, feeling an odd twist in her chest. _It is my _duty _to ensure they are safe and become as capable as I can make them. W-what's this about _mothering? _How can I mother anyone when I never knew my own? How can I fret when I barely feel anything? _

_Oh? What else shall I call a famous mercenary awkwardly attempting to make cookies in order to raise a sad boy's spirits, if not fretting? You yourself said that his grief were not truly your concern, yet you've been worrying about him ever since you left the battlefield. _

Byleth sat, stunned, her feet so still that a fish brushed against them without fear. _I..._ she looked down at her hands. _I...I...suppose? _

_Hmm...I realize this is all a little confusing. _Sothis frowned. _I am not the only one in a strange position here. You should not be as you are now. Your body is cold and numb in a way that is not the work of a broken mind. This is not natural... _She scowled. _And I do not mean in the way people have always muttered around you. I mean that something must be wrong that is distinctly non-mortal in its mechanisms. _

A chill went down the young mercenary's spine. _Is that so...? _

_Unfortunately... I know not what those mechanisms are, _Sothis let out a single frustrated sigh. _If only I could recall...this feels as if it is something I should understand. _

A mewl interrupted her thoughts, before something headbutted her arm. Byleth twisted and found herself blinking down at a large, round-bellied tabby cat rubbing up against her, demanding attention in the way overly affectionate animals are wont to. She watched it for a moment before patting it a few times, then scratching it behind the ears. Its rumbling purr seemed to make its whole body vibrate.

“Hello professor. Are you going to fish today?”

Byleth looked up at Leonie, who'd come up behind her at some point she was talking to Sothis. Despite her caution, she frequently lost track of what was going on around her when she conferred with the spirit in her head; it was a good thing she had a reputation for stoicism and quiet thought, or else more people would think it odd... “Not today. I've been attending to some other things. Shall I move out of your way?”

“I'm not in a rush.” Leonie put a hand on her hip. “I gotta ask you something, though. How old is Captain Jeralt? He was always fairly nonchalant about it, but I've heard some weird anecdotes from the knights compared to what I know.”

“I...don't think he's ever mentioned it to me.” Byleth admitted, tilting her head. “In fact, I've heard him give different numbers on a couple of occasions. Looking back on it, I think it's a sign he was trying to avoid going back to the church.”

“Did he ever say anything about _that_? Because that's kind of weird too, given how happy everyone is to have him back.”

“He really doesn't want to say. I've tried to ask.” She looked down at the cat again. “Maybe you'll have better luck than me. He said that you always had a way of getting the things you put your mind to.”

Leonie made an odd sound deep in her throat. “I guess it couldn't hurt.” She heard the other girl shuffle a bit. “You seriously don't know his real age?”

“...I don't think he's ever said,” Byleth admitted. “My father can be tight lipped when he wishes. Even to me.”

“That sounds about right, honestly.” Leonie sighed. “Nearly a whole year he spent training me, and he never even _mentioned _having a daughter. Where were you back then, by the way? I can't imagine he just left you behind for no reason.”

“...” Byleth mind darted back to a burning village, a knife buried in her back, and a dark-skinned man drenched in blood and soot lifting her from the ground onto his wyvern. “It's a long story. I'll tell you about it some time, when I won't be interrupted.”

“Eh? Isn't this your free day?”

“I volunteered. Or I got volunteered. I'm honestly not sure. Either way, I'm helping Mercedes with some pastries.”

“Oh.” Leonie said in a tone of voice that told Byleth she was trying quite hard not to sound utterly confused, yet not quite succeeding. “All right then.” She paused. “I _would _like to hear that story sometime, though. It sounds like it was a bit of an adventure.”

“...It certainly was.” _...All that I can remember of it, anyway. _She gave the cat a final, decisive pet before bringing her feet back onto the deck and grabbing her shoes. “I'll see you at dinner, Leonie. Good luck with the fish.”

“See ya.”

\+ _ + _ + _

Ashe didn't show up at dinner again. That was about what Byleth expected, but she was prepared this time. Carefully balancing a plate of fruit, chicken, and three fresh cookies in one hand, she hammered on his door and spoke. “Ashe. You can't miss dinner again. Open up.”

For a moment, there was no response. Byleth waited, prepared to force the door if he decided to ignore her – she'd had to do that once or twice when her father had shut himself in his study and overworked to the point of exhaustion – but fortunately, after a minute she heard a lethargic 'oh...professor', and the rustling of someone standing up. Moments later, the door swung open about a foot, Ashe blinking tiredly at her, dark rings emphasizing his pale eyes.

“May I come in?” Byleth asked, adopting the troupe medic Falrie's tone as best she could; the kind tone that asked for permission, yet made it clear she would assert her authority as a healer if she had to. Ashe stared at her for a moment, then nodded hesitantly, opening the door the rest of the way.

He was dressed in street clothes, albiet they were rumped and messy in such a way that it was clear he'd been sleeping in them and likely hadn't changed since yesterday. His room was a mess, books strewn across the floor, shoes kicked carelessly aside, bow lying propped against a chair. “Sorry,” Ashe mumbled. “I just sort of...dropped everything when I got back. Haven't fixed it up yet.”

“Don't apologize. Here.” Byleth took one of the cookies off the plate and placed it directly on his palm. “Compliments from Mercedes and Flayn.”

“Oh,” Ashe gasped, cupping the treat in both hands. “F-For me? They shouldn't have...” Hesitantly, he nibbled on the edge of it. Byleth twitched a bit, waiting for him to say something about it. “It's so good...” He took a bite and managed a tiny smile.

“I hope so,” Byleth muttered. “Creaming is more trouble than it's worth. I think I might reserve it for punishment detail for interrupting me in class.”

Ashe blinked at her. “You...you worked on it too, Professor?”

“Yes.” She shuffled her feet, then walked over to the desk and put the plate down. “If you want to eat the other two, you have to manage most of the chicken.”

“You...didn't have to...” The younger boy's lip trembled a bit. Quickly he scarfed down the rest of the cookie and sat down on the edge of his bed. “I...”

Byleth frowned uncertainly, then in a flash of inspiration, commandeered the chair and let her hands rest in her lap. “I'll take your plate back when you're done,” She said calmly. “Then I suggest you have a hot bath. Now that the sauna is installed, the bathhouse has been reopened. It shouldn't be any trouble for you to go there for a little.”

“T-That's...you don't have to stay professor. I'll eat, really.”

“Mercedes said you barely ate yesterday, I didn't see you at breakfast, and Dimitri was literally leading you by the hand to lunch.” Byleth said flatly. “Forgive me, but I'm a bit concerned.”

Ashe said nothing in response, though he did flinch a bit. They sat there together, the silence lingering. Byleth didn't mind. Jeralt was often quiet when gathering his thoughts, and she'd long learned to be patient. Finally, the young archer moved...picking a book up off the ground. It was an older one, the corners worn, some pages dog-eared. It had been kept in care for a number of years, that much was clear.

“This was the first picture book I'd ever seen.” Ashe said softly. “Even when my parents were alive, we weren't in the merchant class. My father's work as a cook in the restaurant he owned jointly with several others in our village wasn't enough to buy me a tutor who could teach me how to read; there were simply too many other expenses compared to his salary. When he and mother died in an accident, I tried to manage what little savings they left behind to keep my siblings fed. But between the taxes, bandit attacks, and the house...it ran out so _quickly. _...So I started stealing.” He frowned. “I was angry then. So angry. I hated the merchants and lords that I saw walking by us on the road, not a worry to be had, occasionally kicking and throwing things at us when we begged for coin. If they could afford to be so pleased with themselves, they could afford to pay for our dinner. ...That's what I thought at the time, anyway.”

Byleth sat still, listening carefully. _That's a fair thing to think, _she thought but didn't say. She didn't dare interrupt.

“I was pretty good at it. I looked cute, I was quick on my feet, and I knew my way around well enough to loose anyone who chased me.” Ashe closed his eyes. “I got confident. Enough so that I decided to break into Castle Gaspard, see what I could steal and resell. Maybe I could get enough to buy our old house back. Maybe I could pay someone to adopt myself and my siblings. I got inside easily enough – I can pick just about any lock you showed me, then. I still can, to be honest.”

He paused. “I believe you,” Byleth said quietly, when it seemed he wouldn't continue.

“I was looking around,” Ashe murmured, “throwing whatever seemed shiny and intricate into my bag. Then I came across a room that clearly hadn't been occupied at the time...I hadn't been paying attention, or I might have realized it was the room of Christophe's mother, who'd died to some illness a while back. But I went inside, and sitting open on the table was this book.” He smiled softly. “You have to understand...I'd never seen illustrations before. No one in my village had the money for something so valuable. I was transfixed, turning the pages, looking for all those glittering images. I didn't even hear Lonato come up behind me, until he asked me if I was enjoying the book.”

“That...” Byleth blinked, trying to reconcile the image of a man gently teasing a thief who'd broken into the room of his dead wife with the man driven to murder over the loss of his son.

“I was so panicked,” Ashe recalled, still smiling. “but he just asked me if I wanted to take it and finish reading it at home. I found myself admitting that I couldn't read...and he said that if I wanted, I could come back tomorrow and he'd teach me. I thought it was a joke. But I went back the next day and Christophe was waiting in the yard for me, told the guards to let me through. Every night after that, Lonato set aside an hour in his day to teach me my letters.”

He stopped, slowly raising his hand to the scar on his cheek. The scar from Lonato's javelin. “He saved me.” He said quietly. “But I couldn't...I couldn't save him.”

Byleth slowly got out of her chair, sat on the bed next to him, and put an arm around his shoulder. “Ashe, can I tell you something I've learned throughout all the jobs I've taken?” She asked. After a pause, he nodded. “Sometimes...sometimes you can't save everyone. Sometimes you can't even save the people you want to. Not if...not if they don't want to be saved.” She tugged at him, pulling him toward her until his head rested on her shoulder. “And that's not your fault. It's never your fault.” _It's his._ “Lonato...put a lot of effort into locking you out of his plans. And with that assassination plot to consider; there's clearly more going on than we know. I hope that we find some answers when the plot is unraveled.” She squeezed his shoulder, feeling him shaking.

“I hope so too,” He sobbed out. “I hope I can help.”

“Well, you won't have the strength to help if you don't eat,” Byleth said gently but firmly. “So please start on that.”

Ashe rubbed at his eyes. “I should have thanked Claude,” He mumbled. “Y'know, for saving me back then? I meant to, I swear...I just...I haven't been able to...”

“Take your time,” She responded. “Claude isn't going anywhere. I could pass it along, if you'd like.”

“N-No...I'd rather say it myself. But...thank you, Professor. Thank you...for everything...”

Byleth stayed for another twenty or so moments, rubbing his back and watching carefully as he choked down most of the chicken she'd brought him. Leaving the cookies with him, she took the plate and quietly excused herself, deciding she'd direct Annette over to him in a little while.

\+ _ + _ + _

“There you are.”

For some reason, it took Byleth longer than it should have to realize that Claude was hiding out in the library. It was obvious, when she thought hard enough, that his sharp mind would hunger for knowledge with great frequency, but his disarming persona kept tricking her into thinking he'd be goofing off someone obvious she could corral him from.

Claude jerked up from his seemingly lazy position, bent over a book written in middle common – the version of the common tongue used when Loong won his kingdom's sovereignty from the Empire. “Oh, Teach! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that,” He complained.

“Yes, well, you shouldn't pretend to be alright when you're not,” Byleth responded mildly. “Up you get. I'm going on patrol, and you're coming with me.”

“Whhaaat? Of course I'm fine! Why wouldn't I be?” Claude complained when she snatched the book out from under his hands. He smiled carefully at her. “Seriously, I'm just contemplating this whole assassination plot. The whole execution of it is bothering me.”

Byleth put her hands on the desk and looked deep into his eyes. “Do you know that when you smile like that, it doesn't reach your eyes?” She asked him calmly. His expression faded with a flicker of shock. “Up you get, and grab your bow. While we're patrolling, I want you to tell me everything that's 'bothering' you about the plot. Because I think we're 'bothered' by the same things, and I want to compare notes.”

“...Well, since you're asking so nicely,” Claude deadpanned. His expression grew more guarded, almost wary, but he got up and moved to join her with little to no hesitation. “You realize this is a trick?”

“It has to be.” Byleth replied. “Why else would a man who planned to kill the archbishop with his own hands be carrying around a letter plotting her assassination at a later date?”

Claude chuckled. “That is the question of the day, isn't it?”

Something about the way he said those words prickled at the back of Byleth's mind, but she set it aside. “So it seems.” If this was a plot with that sort of trickery, then its roots ran far deeper than one grief-stricken man on a doomed quest for revenge. It had already damaged one of her students.

Byleth refused to let it succeed any further than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote half of this at one in the morning, so if there are more grammatical errors than usual, I apologize and please feel free to point them out in the comments.
> 
> Byleth's little aside when Leonie asks her where she was while she was apprenticing with Jeralt was born quite suddenly when I wondered how the heck Leonie could have such a deep and obvious bond with Jeralt yet somehow not know Byleth at all. You'll see more of it in the later chapters. Flayn's speech patterns were a bit tricky to properly write; I meant to give her more screen time, but I think I'll save that for a slightly later chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri joins a hunt for clues, and grave robbers. If only his own troubles would stay buried.

Dimitri walked into the entrance hall after lunch, originally intending to make his way to the training grounds with Ingrid, but was a little surprised to see the Golden Deer gathered as one in the middle of the oddly empty room. Ingrid let out a confused hum, “What's going on with them?” Dimitri shrugged, and – despite acknowledging that it was likely none of his business – wandered towards them out of curiosity.

“-task for this moon is to patrol the monastery in support of the knights while they're trying to stop the assassination plot,” Claude was saying when they came into earshot. The Riegan heir put a hand on his hip. “Here's the thing. I don't think the bad guys are really trying to assassinate the archbishop.”

Ingrid's eyes widened with utter bafflement. “What makes you say that?” Leonie asked, before his friend could raise her voice and make things awkward.

“It's a diversion.” Byleth responded before Claude could respond. The professor was standing with her arms crossed, a serious frown marring her lovely face. “If Lord Lonato had even the slightest intention of succeeding, there would be no reason for a second assassination plot at a later date. Given how ill-equipped he and his force were to actually march on the monastery...it's more likely that he was influenced by other figures, who used his attack and now this as a feint for their intended goal.”

“Precisely,” Claude purred, delight dripping off his tone at her insight. “No one who intends to succeed in an assassination carries around a note like that.”

“You really think so?” Ignatz asked nervously.

“Oh yeah, that makes _complete _sense,” Hilda responded, bobbling her head. “But then, what are they _really _after that was worth the loss of an ally as useful as Lord Gaspard?”

Something ugly, hot and familiar bubbled up in Dimitri's stomach. He swallowed over it, clenching his right hand. The theory made perfect sense. That meant someone had _used _Lord Lonato, manipulated his grief and despair and the love his people had for him – all to gain a convenient meat-shield to mask their true intentions. They threw away dozens of lives, left Ashe and who knew how many others without family, caused _meaningless _deaths.

_This can't be forgiven, _his father said darkly. _Or forgotten. _

_It won't be, _Dimitri swore. _They'll pay for this. _

“If I knew that, I wouldn't be so worried,” Claude complained, pulling his attention back to the present. He saw Ingrid give him a slightly concerned look and managed to smile at her. “Let's see...It probably involves somewhere that'll be empty and easily accessible during the Right of Rebirth. They mentioned that date specifically, and considering how hard it is to get into the chapel during that ceremony, it's extra suspicious that _this _is the day they chose to try and kill off Lady Rhea.”

“And since the ceremony is in the goddess tower, the rest of the monastery will be severely understaffed,” Lysithea mused. “Even with the extra knights that were called back, they wouldn't be able to plug all the gaps.”

“Do you suppose they're after the church's donation money?” Leonie suggested. “I hear noble families tend to donate pretty generously.

“My bet's on the dining hall!” Raphael said enthusiastically.

“Whatever they're after,” Byleth said quietly, “It would have to be something they couldn't find anywhere else. Otherwise, why antagonize one of the most powerful people in Fodlan when there are easier pickings?” She lowered her hand from where it rested next to her ear. “Personally...I think what's most likely is that they're after something the church has confiscated or held in protection for a long time. It could be old or rare books, weapons and relics, but I think we're best served concentrating on what the church alone has that someone might want.”

“I bet you're right!” Hilda proclaimed cheerfully. “Let's split up and look around! I'll keep an eye on the reception hall.”

“Why did she even come here if she's so determined not to make anything of herself?” Ingrid muttered.

“She's _right there, _Ingrid,” Dimitri protested. Fortunately, the pink haired heiress didn't seem to have overheard them.

“You should get some training in if you have the time, Hilda,” Claude deadpanned in an unexpectedly serious tone. “There's a good chance we're going to get in a fight.”

“Ugh. Well, I'm not the only one who needs to train here! It's not right to single me out like that!”

“People who slack off on their exam preparations get week-long dish duty,” Byleth said flatly.

“_Professor!_” Hilda half whined, half protested. Claude, Lysithea and Ignatz all snickered, causing her to pout at them.

Dimitri couldn't help but chuckle. “I suppose we should consider ourselves grateful that Professor Hannamen doesn't threaten slackers with extra chores,” he joked. The Golden Deer turned around almost as one. “Sylvain would be in serious trouble.”

“Perhaps he ought to,” Byleth replied, crossing her arms. “I find it does a good job of motivating certain individuals.” Lorenz and Hilda looked mutually pained at that.

“Your Highness, Lady Ingrid,” The purple-haired noble bowed slightly, perhaps in hopes of redirecting your conversation. “I'm surprised to see you here. Have you not been briefed on your own monthly task yet?”

“Ah, I'm afraid it's been postponed, in light of the assassination plot.” Dimitri eyed the group thoughtfully and said, “Though with that in mind, I suspect we'll be given orders to join the knights in patrolling as well. I can't imagine things settling here until the Archbishop's safety is assured.”

“Probably,” Byleth agreed quietly.

“Still...I loathe being inactive in times like these.” Dimitri acknowledged before looking about the group. “It makes me anxious.”

“Ooooh, I know – why don't you come help us then?” Hilda suggested cheerfully. “Many hands make light work, right?”

“Hilda! You can't just try and foist your responsibilities in the investigation off on a rival house! Are you seriously trying to turn the prince of Faerghus into your errand boy?!” Lorenz sputtered. “I can't _believe _you-”

“I wouldn't mind helping.” Dimitri interrupted, smiling apologetically at the flummoxed lord before glancing back at his classmate. “What do you think, Ingrid? If you'd rather wait until we got proper orders, I understand.”

“I...well, that is...” Ingrid looked baffled, rubbing her elbow. “I...suppose if you think you have a lead, it couldn't hurt?” The surprised smiles that broke out across the Golden Deer made Dimitri feel oddly warm. “It's true we've been given no assignment, and I think the Professor is right. It has to be something invaluable to the church...and there can only be so many places something like that can be hidden.” She rocked on her heels once and said, “Should I go get the others?”

“If they're willing,” Dimitri answered, thinking about how cross Felix would be if he found out after the fact that he'd missed a good fight – within arm's reach, at that. Ever since their first battle after initiation, his friend had been hungering for real conflict to hone his sword on. “Do warn them that there's likely to be a fight should we catch these people in the act.”

“As you wish,” Ingrid said, then hurried back down the hall.

Lorenz still looked utterly flabbergasted as she disappeared through the door. Claude, meanwhile, was beaming – leaving Dimitri to wonder if he'd heard the two of them come in and deliberately allowed them to eavesdrop. Hilda generally preferred to do as little as possible, and would have jumped on even the implication of extra help being offered. Asking a rival house leader for assistance in your own mission would be seen as weakness – but by passing the question off to her, and knowing that Dimitri was not good at ignoring people facing trouble, Claude could graciously accept the offer of help, cover more ground faster, and succeed in his mission without loosing face.

Maybe he was overthinking it or being too suspicious. But it was one thing for Claude to claim to be a shamelessly frank schemer, and another thing to wonder if you'd just seen him in action.

“So kind of you to join us, your princeliness” Claude said with a smile. “How shall we do this, then?”

“Hilda's desire to split up has some merit,” Byleth said. “We should go in groups of two and investigate various areas of the monastery that are typically off limits for students. Speak to anyone who might have some idea of what the supposed assassins might want. And keep an eye out for anyone who looks like they shouldn't be here. Dimitri, depending on how many of your classmates join us, you might want to take Hilda and go meet them in the officer's academy area.” She turned on her heel. “Ignatz, you and Raphael search together. Leonie, take Lysithea; Marianne, you and Lorenz can manage together, yes?”

“Naturally,” Lorenz responded without waiting for Marianne to say anything. The blue haired girl squeaked, and then nodded hesitantly.

“Alright. Let us begin, then.” Byleth clapped her hands together, and the Golden Deer took off in both directions. Claude lingered by the table he'd been leaning on, hands behind his head with his lips curved in a pleased grin.

“All of this death, in order to steal from a holy vault.” Dimitri muttered, his mood darkening as he contemplated their conclusion once again. “How low can people stoop...”

“In my experience, they don't consider it 'stooping'.” Byleth responded dully, running a hand through her hair. “They think they're completely justified, and that it's everyone else's fault for 'forcing' them to commit to violence. Or that they had a right to it and how dare these peasants judge them?”

“Oh man,” Claude said with a mock groan, “I've lived three years in the Leisceter Alliance and I've already heard the latter enough to last me a lifetime.”

Dimitri forcibly took a calming breath. As much as he loathed to admit it, he'd heard that line among some of his fellow Kingdom nobles as well, and it never failed to spike his blood pressure to dangerous levels. It was truly infuriating that no one who flaunted their _rights_ considered their _responsibilities_ to be of any significance. Instead he tried to think about what little information they had, and asked, “Claude, when you spoke to Lord Lonato, he said something about Lady Rhea being a false prophet, correct?”

Claude's expression darkened for a split second. Dimitri, not for the first time, wondered what exactly had happened in Lonato's final moments that his friend's carefully practiced calm cracked when asked about it. Only Ashe had witnessed part of the conversation between the future duke and the grief-blind lord, and Byleth had hauled him away while Lonato tried and failed to defeat his younger opponent. When she'd gone back, she'd found Claude standing in silence over the man's body. What had happened? “Yeah, something to that effect. He kept rambling about how she was deceiving the people and stealing us away from true faith.”

“I don't understand,” Byleth grumbled. “The first among the Goddess's laws is that murder is the gravest of sins. How can he claim to be among the most devout among her followers while starting a violent insurrection?”

Claude glanced curiously at her; Dimitri shook his head and said, “I don't know, Professor. Though I'm beginning to wonder...”

The door swung open behind them, cutting off further conversation. Felix stormed through first, hand on his sword and eyes alight; Sylvain trailed along behind him, rubbing the back of his head and gesturing placatingly at a scowling Ingrid. Much to Dimitri's surprise and pleasure, Ashe was following behind them, Annette hovering at his side while Dedue and Mercedes brought up the rear. His younger friend looked a little better than the last few days, managing a smile when they formed a loose semi-circle around him.

Amazement washed over Dimitri, leaving him surprised and pleased; he'd thought at least two or three of his classmates would be busy or disinclined to assist without official permission. “What's going on, boar?” Felix asked without prompting.

“The assassination 'plot' is a ruse,” Claude replied, frowning for another brief moment before easily continuing, “and if you're really lucky, we're going to catch our opponents off guard and get in a bloody scrape. But if we're going to do that...we need to know where they're going to show up.”

\+ _ + _ + _

Investigating the monastery was more time consuming than Dimitri had anticipated.

Perhaps it should have been obvious to him, but he hadn't quite been able to appreciate just how _massive _Garreg Mach was until he'd attempted to seek out its secrets from one end to the other. It was easy to see why Claude was so fascinated by the building; beyond the question of whether there was anything of its like in Almyra. As they moved from place to place, he learned more about the monastery's history than any of his lessons had imparted before. It was not the work for impatient men, what they were doing – dozens of possibilities opened up as they ferreted details out drunk soldiers and loose-lipped monks about treasures, secret passageways and old hearsay.

The whole experience was giving Dimitri a terrible headache, and it was vaguely aggravating to realize that Claude was likely thriving in the midst of this. Despite what the walking contradiction likely wanted him to believe, he'd come to realize – which Hilda had then happily confirmed – that Claude didn't just prod and pester people for his personal amusement. Rather, he was probably the most curious soul in all of Fodlan, and he could never leave well enough alone when there were secrets to pursue. Frequently it got him in trouble...and just as frequently it tended to a boon in unexpected moments.

The realization came with a distant, nagging worry; he had secrets of his own, and good reason to keep them hidden. He tried to wrestle down that old unease, strangle it;_ it wasn't fair to his friend._.. He gave his head a shake and tried to refocus on the task at hand.

It was taking them days; the Rite of Rebirth was nearly upon them. Days of meticulously running back and forth across the grounds, occasionally meeting up with half of their classmates to share information and rule some of their ideas out. Garreg Mach was usually a cheerful and welcoming place; now it was quiet as a crypt, the unease and fear hanging over the servants and students only broken up by anxious theorizing and jumping at shadows. Even the orphan children, usually insulated and immune from the squabbles of their protectors, knew something was very wrong.

Dimitri was just grateful they were narrowing things down. Claude, after some deliberation, had ruled out the library and the bishop's offices – the lengths these unknown enemies had gone to set this up, and the resources they'd sunk into this attempt, was too much even for rare books and sealed reports/papers. That left just a few loose ends...

“What's the matter? You're running all over creation!” Sir Jeralt remarked after he and Hilda nearly crashed into the man in their haste to speak with one of the knights in the dining hall.

“Professor's orders, sir!” Hilda said breathlessly. “Have you seen Sir Carlton? We have some questions about the Holy Mausoleum and he's on guard duty this week.”

“The Holy Mausoleum? Aren't you supposed to be helping with the knight patrols?” Sir Jeralt looked between them for a moment before a slow smile spread across his face. “Ah, you don't believe Lady Rhea is the real target, do you?”

“Claude thinks it's a feint, designed to draw attention away from another objective within the Monastery.” Dimitri said. “I'm inclined to agree with him.”

The old knight snorted. “So am I. Unfortunately, the knights have their orders. All I can say is that, out of all the restricted areas within these walls, the Holy Mausoleum has the _most _security throughout the year except for the Rite of Rebirth. It'll be the only day of the year that the graveyard can be entered easily without the Archbishop's permission and assistance.”

“Ooooh~, good to know! Thank you Sir Jeralt!” Hilda unexpectedly grabbed his arm and started dragging him back the way they came. “C'mon Dimitri, let's go find Claude!”

“Ow, Hilda! Goddess, where do all of you find this energy?”

Dimitri heard Sir Jeralt chuckle right before he was pulled through the doors again. He knew he could free himself if he truly desired to – the Crest of Goneril gave Hilda more strength than a normal human could match, but it couldn't compare to his own. The Crest of Charon came close, to the extent that many scholars theorized that the pair were entwined, somehow; in whatever manner the Goddess had created them, they were near twins. So it wasn't as though her iron grip was inescapable...but there was something oddly charming about the energy that Hilda was demonstrating, that she seemed to have siphoned off of her fellow classmates, that he didn't find the need to disrupt.

“He figured it out right away!” Hilda commented with a laugh. “I mean, I guess it makes sense, since he's been a mercenary for so long, but I totally didn't think he'd agree.”

“Much of what Professor Byleth knows, she learned from him,” Dimitri noted wryly. “I would expect no less.”

“There's a scary thought,” Hilda slowed down a bit as they re-entered the main hall. “The Professor can be kind of intimidating; when she isn't spacing out, anyway! I don't envy anyone who walks into a battlefield and finds _both _of them waiting in the wings.”

“A frightening place to stand, indeed.” They started across the grassy field toward the officer's academy. Cool winds whipped around them, the gray sky above a grim monolith. Dimitri shivered and tried not to wonder if the weather, so frequently oppressive in the past weeks, was an omen of things to come.

Claude was leaning against one of the pillars in the Golden Deer classroom, talking in a low voice with Byleth so as not to disturb the few scattered students who were trying to work in spite of the situation. Leonie was pacing back and forth near Felix, who wore a strong look of consternation. Annette was sitting on one of the desks, appearing quite thoughtful.

“There you are,” Byleth said, calm and remote as ever. “You look pleased.”

“We've got a lead!” Hilda said brightly, throwing herself onto the seat next to Annette while ignoring the orange-haired girl's startled yelp. “Something the church values above all else, and the day of the Rite is the _only _time it's easily accessible by the public.”

The professor's brow furrowed slightly. “Do you mean the Holy Mausoleum?”

Claude grinned. “Bullseye. That's _just _where I was going.”

“Saint Serios's bones are interned in the Mausoleum; at least, that's what has always been said.” Dimitri crossed his arms and frowned. “I can't imagine what else is within there worth stealing.” _We're dealing with grave robbers. _As if the mere setup to this, this _heretical _invasion hadn't already been disgusting enough.

“We don't know the enemy's intentions, not yet.” Claude said as if reading this thoughts. “But judging by all the information we've gone over? Our best bet is to stake out the Holy Mausoleum.” He grinned. “Let's meet up in the cathedral tomorrow. Don't forget to bring your weapons.”

“Finally,” Felix muttered.

Ultimately, they discussed what they'd learned for a few more minutes before departing from the classroom; Dimitri had just stepped out into the sunlight when he saw Dedue and Mercedes returning from their own information hunt. While Mercedes immediately made her way over to Annette, Dedue stood in place, frowning at Claude's back as the brunette slipped away toward the training grounds.

Concerned by that unusual response, Dimitri made his way over to the taller student. “Is something the matter, Dedue?”

Whatever he was expecting...it wasn't what he got. “Your Highness, this might sound out of line...but why have you suddenly come to trust Riegan?”

Dimitri made a strangled noise of surprise, blinking rapidly up at him. “I'm sorry?” He said blankly. “Where is this coming from, my friend?”

Dedue looked a little pained at being addressed as such, as he always did, before forging on. “For someone who's so keen on discovering the secrets of others, he's very reluctant to share his own,” The Duscur native rumbled. “How can we trust a man who lies as easily as he breathes to have our best interests at heart? I do not know if we should join him tomorrow...”

“Dedue...” Dimitri sucked in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. “He is a liar, yes, but he is not a dangerous man...not to us, at least.” He tried not to think of Ashe's description of Claude nonchalantly side-stepping an attack, cruel, prying questions pouring off his tongue as he toyed with his opponent, drawing him away from the younger archer. “Claude has good cause to keep the truths that he has close to his chest. He is – _has _told me something I cannot in good conscious divulge without his permission; all I can say is that he is more like you than you might think.”

Dedue blinked twice. “I...forgive me, your highness, but I find that difficult to imagine.”

“I suspect that's exactly what he wants,” Dimitri ran a hand through his hair, wondering how to explain without really telling his friend anything. “Remember that the Alliance is very different from the Kingdom. There may be more freedoms there for most, but in exchange, its politics are treacherous to navigate. Even though Claude will inherit the leading household of the Alliance, he will not inherit the loyalty of his fellow lords the way I shall. He's had to fight to be respected, to prove himself, since his arrival...especially since he had to be legitimized.”

He couldn't help but scowl at that. “There's a saying that Alliance lords are a greater danger to each other than any invader could hope to be. I doubt that's wholly true, but it's a potential danger that Claude must always be wary of.”

_'Spend a week in the Alliance, if your honor could stomach it'. I'm honestly not sure it could. _

Dedue didn't look wholly convinced, but he visibly set his thoughts on the matter aside. “Besides,” Dimitri went on, “I can't imagine leaving him and his classmates to fight an unknown enemy when I could be there alongside them.”

That, at least, was something Dedue seemed to understand. “Then we shall go.” The larger man said solemnly.

\+ _ + _ + _

Dimitri slept very little the night before the Rite of Rebirth, and when he did, his dreams were full of blood and open graves.

There were no bones in the graves set up for his father, stepmother, and the household knights. Fire had ruined their bodies beyond all recognition; only dear Glenn escaped such ruin by vanishing completely; his last memory was his friend shoving him into Gustav's arms before turning to face the flames and their pursuers, arrows still in his back. All that they were able to find was his sword, which was returned to his father. For all that Dimitri had been afraid of going near the smoothly carved stone that marked Glenn's resting place, it was utterly overshadowed by the intense feeling of rage that the mere thought of someone disturbing his grave kindled in him.

Saint Serios had saved Fodlan in days long gone by. Was that not enough cause to be left to rest undisturbed? What could be gained by violating her grave, what cause so valuable that the woman to whom they owed the world they lived in should be desecrated?

_Are you ready? _

“I am, father.” Dimitri murmured, sliding his boots on.

_You're tired. Weak. Are you truly ready?_

“Yes. Yes, I promise.”

He ran a hand through his hair before tying it back; he'd grown to like the look, despite the strange looks some of the girls were giving him and Sylvain's constant badgering over where the idea had come from. Dimitri couldn't imagine what sort of conclusions the redhead would jump to if he admitted it had been Claude; for some reason, the thought made him oddly nervous. It made him think of the brunette's reaction to him taking the advice; a brief second of surprise followed by a playful whistle of admiration.

_Are Riegan and your pretty professor distracting you again?_

Dimitri jolted to his feet, eyes widening. “What? N-no, of course not...!”

_Liar. _

“It's-it's not like that-”

A sharp knock on the door cut his stammered explanation off. “What are you mumbling about_, _boar?” Felix grumbled. Apparently Dimitri wasn't the only person who had slept poorly last night.

“Felix, can't you give that nickname a rest?” Sylvain chided, his voice slightly muffled by the wood. “But seriously, your highness, are you alright in there? You didn't bring somebody in last night, did you? Because after all the trouble you've given me about going out late-”

“No!” Dimitri snatched his coat off the wall and yanked the door open, glaring indigently at his childhood friend. “For the love of Sothis, Sylvain! _You're _the only one who's committed that particular sin against your neighbors. I was thinking out loud, that's all.”

Felix stared doubtfully at him, then snorted. “Hmph. Riegan and his lot are waiting in the cathedral. Let's go.” He stomped off toward the stairs.

Sylvain sighed. “Is he ever going to explain what he's holding against you?” He asked, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Don't mind him,” Dimitri said, shaking his head. He still wasn't sure whether or not he was grateful that Felix hadn't told his friends what he'd seen that day. “Let's just go.”

His red-haired friend frowned at him, before shrugging. “Fine, have it your way. You do know you can trust me, right?”

“Of course I do...”

Dimitri picked up the pace and took the stairs two at a time, using the rush as an excuse to avoid talking any further. For all that he complained, Sylvain kept at his heels as they made their way to the first floor, through the entrance hall and out onto the bridge connecting to the cathedral. There weren't many people out and about – with Lady Rhea preparing to preform the Rite, most of the faithful were at the Goddess Tower while the knights patrolled the halls. It was almost eerie how empty the house of prayer was when they passed the iron gates and stepped inside; only a few monks lingered among the pews, and the usually ever-present organ was silent.

Claude, Byleth and the others weren't hard to spot; Dimitri realized (much to his chagrin) that they were the last three arriving; _overslept again..._ “I'm sorry,” he apologized as he, Sylvain and Felix came to a halt in front of the group. “Nothing's happened yet, has it?”

“No.” Byleth murmured. “The ceremony isn't due to start for an hour. I doubt our enemy wants to jump the gun.”

“Which isn't to say they aren't probably moving about right now,” Claude added. “Time to see if our hunch is correct.”

“Ugh, I hope it's not,” Hilda grumbled. “Then we wouldn't have to fight anyone.”

“I appreciate your respect for the sanctity of life, Hilda,” Byleth said with a startling note of dryness in her voice. “But I suspect you hope in vain. I do hope you didn't put so much hope in that thought that you left you ax behind.”

Felix snorted in amusement; Claude didn't bother to try and hide his snickering. Hilda turned a light shade of red when Raphael got a chuckle out at her expense as well. Ingrid rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, scowling at the other girl.

“We've all come to this conclusion together,” Ignatz said, coming to his classmates rescue. “I'm sure we've got it right.”

“I agree,” Ashe said quietly. Annette frowned worriedly at him, watching him turn an arrow over and over in his hands. Everyone present was armed, but despite their intentions only Mercedes and Ignatz were worrying with their tools as he was.

“Right or wrong, the clock is ticking,” Claude said, his usual casualness subdued. “All we can do for now is stick to the plan.”

“We're ready,” Dimitri assured him.

“You seem a mite too relaxed for my liking,” Seteth's voice sounded from the side. Dimitri turned towards the bishop as he approached with Flayn in tow. The prince wasn't sure what to make of the blatantly suspicious scowl the man threw at Byleth. “The Goddess's Rite of Rebirth is to begin shortly. While we are in the Goddess Tower, we are relying on you to secure the locations lacking in defense.”

“Bishop Seteth, I assure you-” Dimitri started to protest, a little indigent on the professor's behalf. She blinked with what might be surprise.

“May I let you in on something, Professor?” Flayn cut in, smiling. Byleth pivoted to stare at her, a hint of puzzlement on her face. “My brother can be a bit...callous.” Seteth's expression went flat with alarm. “He told me he was concerned about you, and hinted that perhaps you'd be better off patrolling a coffin!” She giggled a bit.

“What?” Dimitri wasn't sure if that surprised yelp came from Annette, Mercedes, Lysithea or Lorenz – or maybe all of them.

“T-That...was said in jest, Flayn! And in confidence,” Seteth sputtered. “Please, stay by my side and try not to cause any more trouble...” The man looked over them again, shuffled almost awkwardly, then turned to leave with one hand on his sister's arm.

“Seteth is _way_ too overprotective,” Hilda mumbled. “He reminds me of my brother.”

Claude rolled his shoulder, watching Seteth leave with an expression Dimitri couldn't decipher. “Well, with that ringing endorsement in our ears, how can we do anything less?” He grinned in spite of the barb. “I know a hidden spot where we can monitor the stairs leading to the Holy Mausoleum. It'll be a bit cramped with all of us...but we'll manage.”

Those green eyes sharpened. Dimitri, almost in spite of himself, shivered at the sight. “If there's anyone down there, they'll be trapped like the rats they are. We'll just have to take them down without getting bitten.”

Whether it was nerves, a sense of caution, or the fact that they were disturbed by Seteth's blatant mistrust of them, both classes were virtually silent as Claude lead them down into the lower floors of Garreg Mach. As they descended, the appearance of the monastery grew more spartan; it never looked quite abandoned, but the bare walls and cracked floors had not been given the same kind of care as the glittering castle above. After they turned several corners following a twisting, counter-intuitive hallway, Claude ran his hand along the wall and pressed hard against one of the stones. It gave way under his hand, revealing a rusty doorknob that required a bit of shaking to get to work...beyond that, a concealed pathway.

“Dare I ask how you knew about that?” Dimitri wondered aloud.

Claude merely smiled at him before gesturing to the narrow passageway. “The Mausoleum is at the other end. Shall we?”

\+ _ + _ + _

The passageway likely wasn't designed with nearly twenty people lingering inside it indefinitely, given how close the walls were to each other; with that in mind, they weren't waiting too long before the silence was broken up by occasional mumbled complaints. The quiet was an oppressive blanket, however, and those who broke it tended to cringe and immediately shut up. Even the smallest sound seemed to echo throughout the whole floor.

Dimitri almost wished for Byleth's apathy; she leaned against the wall, eyes closed as if asleep, only the tenseness in her shoulders suggesting anything concerned her. Thanks to the lack of space, he was pressed against her back (_internally admiring her height and muscles while also being very grateful Sylvain was at the other end of the passage_) and he could feel the stress in her. It startled him, in all honesty. She was always so serene, untroubled...being able to sense her worry like this was humbling, and reminded him again just how little he, or anyone else, knew about her...

“Would you look at that,” Claude murmured from in front of him.

“You know very well that I can't,” Dimitri retorted, twisting slightly so he was looking at the back of the brunette's neck. Claude was standing in front of the door, looking through the small barred window that provided their view of the Mausoleum's entrance. “Are they here? What is-”

Claude's hand grasped his wrist. “Shh,” He murmured, pressing a finger against Dimitri's pulse. “There's a lot of them; they're all headed into the Mausoleum. Some mercenaries armed with axes and bows...and a lot of mages in priest robes.”

The prince opened his mouth, closed it, and felt oddly flustered as his blood thundered wildly against the archer's calloused thumb.

“Priests?” Mercedes hissed, indigent. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Claude shifted slightly and tensed. “They don't look like they're from Garreg Mach, though. Different designs from the same base...well, well. A power grab by the Western Church?” Dimitri felt Byleth tense. “Can't say I was expecting that.”

“What's he talking about?” Leonie mumbled, her bow creaking slightly as she shifted in place.

“Well, it's-”

“They're all gone in,” Claude interrupted Annette's explanation. “Whatever they want in there, they're setting up to grab it.” He gave the door a kick and forced it open, striding out into the hallway. “Shall we?”

For a moment, the sheer calm purpose in those words left Dimitri speechless. It hardly sounded like the Claude he knew at all...there was power there, weight. For a brief moment, he wasn't looking at his laid-back friend but someone else entirely.

Not that he had time to contemplate it. “Prepare for battle, everyone,” He commanded, following Claude toward the door.

Felix chuckled somewhere behind him. “Finally!”

They flooded into the Mausoleum almost as one, the doors banging shut behind them. The graveyard stretched out ahead of them, dark except for candles on the graves and several torches on the walls. The ceiling stretched far above their heads, startlingly so for a vast room so deep beneath the monastery. Standing among the stone tombs were men in white priest robes, and mercenaries in cheap leather armed with steel axes and bows. There had to be...what? Two dozen, thirty, forty men in total? Counting the knight in the center of the room...

Dimitri's eyes narrowed at the sharp jolt of wariness washing over him as his eyes clapped onto the most distinctive figure in the room.

He rode astride a massive black stallion...how he lead the magnificent animal inside without anyone's guess, but the animal was young, muscular and strong. Certainly, it was capable of potentially charging them down and trampling them beneath its hooves. The rider sat tall despite his lazy and disinterested posture; clad head to toe in spiked black armor with horns jutting out of his helmet. A long lance dangled lazily against the side of the horse; Dimitri for a moment thought his eyes might be playing tricks on him...but he was certain that instead of a normal lance head, the blade curved like a farmer's scythe, the blade as long as his arm.

“Professor...” He murmured warily, looking over at her.

“I see him,” She responded, stepping forward so she was standing in front of Lysithea and Annette. “I'm surprised someone so memorable has been skulking around unnoticed. ...Keep the others away from him. When he moves, I'll take him on. Claude?”

“I hear you,” Her house leader responded, shivering. “I'm getting _really _disturbing vibes off that guy...no one go near the evil-looking knight, okay?!”

There was a shout at the far end of the room. Dimitri strained his eyes; from what he could tell, a man was kneeling before the casket of Saint Serios, struggling to open it. Fortunately, whatever enchantment had been lain on the tomb years before was holding. The man twisted to look at them and yelled out for his forces to move; the sellswords and priests began moving towards them, weapons drawn with none of the hesitation Byleth had described in the Gaspard troops before.

“We'll take the right, you take the left?” Claude asked playfully, one arrow already drawn.

“That sounds fair,” Dimitri responded, then darted forward. He knew without looking back at his friends were following his lead.

The first myrmidon all but impaled himself on his lance; they weren't cheap hires, judging by their clothes, but there was an arrogance to their gait that Dimitri had learned to recognize in the many brigands who'd attempted to pillage his villages and saw the blonde-haired 'child' as a mere kitten who could be swept aside with little effort. Dimitri kicked the corpse aside, freeing his weapon, and ducked behind a pillar just in time to avoid a couple of arrows. Ashe darted to a pillar just north of him, swung out from behind it and fired back at the archer. When the man staggered, Ashe's attack scoring his arm, Dedue stormed down the narrow pathway between the tombs and slammed his gauntleted fist into the man's face, dropping him instantly.

Anther myrmidon, either braver or stupider than most, rushed forward and smacked the back of Dedue's head with the hilt of his sword. Dimitri couldn't help but smirk when, sure as it had before, the impact didn't even faze his friend. The large Duscur native slowly turned around and skewered the man with a singularly unimpressed stare; the man had a couple of seconds to realize his mistake and pale right before Ingrid's lance rammed through his back and out of his chest.

Ashe was firing arrows again, this time at the pair of mages who'd rounded the corner with the initial attack. One of his targets let out a gurgling scream when an arrow replaced her right eye; the other one staggered and then threw Miasma at the pillar his friend was using as cover. Ashe let out a frightened yelp as the impact knocked him backwards and collapsed the stone, nearly crushing him beneath it.

Dimitri rushed over and pulled Ashe to his feet, eyes scanning for the mage. He needn't have been worried; Felix hadn't given the man even a moment to make something of his success. “Worthless,” his friend snarled, wrenching his blade free and charging forward. Ingrid had been leading another archer away from Annette; Felix stabbed him through the shoulder, allowing the orange-haired mage to finish her tormentor off.

_Are you going to stand there and make my brother do all the work, boar? _

Dimitri shut his eyes for a split second, then handed Ashe over to Mercedes. Then – with a wary glance over his shoulder at the unmoved knight in black – he took a javelin in his free and and rejoined the fight in earnest.

Hm...maybe there were some low town brigands mixed in among the professional mercenaries. Or at least, that's what he presumed some of the men with axes were, given how they swung their weapons with intent but no grace. He threw his javelin at one rushing toward Annette, pinning him to a pillar, and dodged a retaliatory strike from another before grabbing the man by the throat. Growling under his breath, he felt his Crest stir, and promptly lifted the man off his feet and slammed him into the pillar.

He could feel the bones crack and shatter under his fingers as the impact embedded both his hand and the man's skull into the old stone. The sickening _squelch _was mercifully cushioned by the battle fever burning its way through him. Dimitri let out a harsh breath and pulled his fingers free, letting the corpse drop to the ground and allowing him to bring his lance up against his next attacker.

“Don't hold this against me, okay?” He heard Claude snark halfway across the room, followed shortly by a shriek of pain and outrage. Slamming the hilt of his lance into the mage's head – this being far more effective than the attempt on Dedue – he glanced to his right and nearly let out a rather inappropriate chuckle. Claude had literally pinned one of the mages to a pillar with two well-placed arrows – the man couldn't move without risking slitting his own throat.

_Pay attention! _He flinched at his father's angry reprimand. _There's more for you to do!_

Retrieving the javelin he'd thrown earlier, Dimitri rejoined Dedue and was relieved to find his retainer hadn't been seriously injured yet. There was some blood on his shirt, yes, but whatever wounds he'd had, Mercedes had cleaned them up.

A half-dozen men were waiting up ahead for them. Ingrid was holding Felix back from blindly charging them alone; sure enough, at least one of them was a mage.

_Slaughter the grave robbers and scatter their bones throughout the halls!_

“Annette!” He called, his grip tightening on his lance. She darted up next to him, and he gestured at the ceiling. “Bring them closer, will you?”

She blinked at him, then grinned, and raised her hands up. Instead of aiming the wind spell at the distant opponents, where it would loose most of its impact after crossing the distance she aimed it above their heads – directly at a number of old, loose shingles. Sure enough, the falling debris forced the group apart, and several of them ran forward instead of back.

Dimitri raised a hand slightly, to get a better chance of hitting...then threw his javelin again; with far more force than he'd used on Claude in the mock battle. The weapon impaled the mercenary's face and went straight out the back of his head.

One more bloody corpse to haunt his nightmares. There were already so many...would he even notice one more, now?

“Death Knight!” A shriek that tried to sound commanding despite the naked fear in its trembling words echoed from the head of the invaders. “Prove your strength and scatter these fools.”

“_I don't take commands._” The low, rumbling, inhuman voice was like a razor blade on Dimitri's nerves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mercedes stiffen. “_Or obey the orders of weaklings.” _

“You fool! This is why you are here! Kill them! Kill all of these interfering brats!”

“Your Highness...” Dedue hissed, glaring uneasily at the black knight.

“Let them argue,” Dimitri murmured. “It seems our enemies are not as united as they appear.”

“Half of these people are militiamen. Like those who left from Castle Gaspard.” Dedue slugged another mage that had managed to slip past Felix in an attempt to escape entirely. “The rest wear symbols of Seiros in some fashion or another. I think Riegan may be right.”

Dimitri glanced down at one of the corpses near him; he could hear someone trying, and failing, to come up behind him without being noticed. It took a moment, but he found what Dedue had seen – the Crest of Seiros drawn in red blood on a black background. “He almost certainly is,” He said, then stepped to the side. The fighter tried to check his momentum, but Dedue's fists crashing down on his spine put his fight to an end. “This has certainly gotten more dangerous than it seemed.”

Any further thoughts he might have had on the matter were interrupted by the doors swinging open. For a second he hoped it was the Knights, having been alerted to their situation; unfortunately, their cloaks put paid to that. “Heretics!” One of them shouted. “How dare you interfere with the restoration of the faith!”

“Faith will _never _be exalted by murder!” Mercedes shouted back. Felix interrupted his beatdown of a soldier who'd given him a back wound in favor of staring at her in disbelief. “How dare _you_! How dare _any _of you do this and claim to be faithful!”

There was a rumbling laugh that followed those words; the rough, inhuman tones of the knight in the center of the graveyard. He had yet to move from that spot, seemingly content to watch his allies get slaughtered.

“Claude?” Dimitri called out, looking across the open floor to where his counterpart was helping Raphael to his feet. The friendly bruiser was nursing some pretty painful-looking burns; Lysithea was trying to heal them, with less success than Marianne usually provided.

“I see 'em.” Claude responded, shrugging casually. “Hey Ignatz, Lorenz, you're up.”

As two of the fresh reinforcements made their way up to the central plaza toward the Golden Deer, one got nailed in the throat with an arrow, and the other was struck by a fireball and set ablaze. The two students responsible appeared like ghosts from behind the cover that had concealed them; Ignatz was shaking a bit, while Lorenz stood tall and confident as ever. He revealed his lance with a flourish and finished the two off one at a time.

Dimitri saw Byleth slip away from her students and approach the man still hovering at the casket, but he didn't have the chance to try and move forward to support her – the reinforcements were fast approaching.

Ashe was ready for them, however. His expression was set in a hard, cold glare, completely unlike his usual self. “No more,” He hissed as he let an arrow fly.

_This is the last of them. Finish them off!_

“Professor!”

Dimitri stabbed his opponent in the gut and spun around in time to see the mage, having shoved the casket open, throw a fireball. Byleth swung her sword out in front of her -

\- and the spell disintegrated, a golden light spilling across the length of the blade. Shocked, the mage took a step back, and then threw another spell. Byleth deflected it again, her surprise melting into her usual confidence. _That isn't her sword, _the prince realized with a thrill of shock. _That's...that's...that blade looks like Areadbhar!_

The Professor swung the blade down; with a glass like clatter, the blade separated apart like a whip, each individual part gleaming in the low light of the candles, and swung it into the man's chest. A horrific tearing sound filled the entire mausoleum, and blood splashed across the tomb, the wall and the floor as if a bubble had been burst. With a hiss and a _click_, the blade reformed into its singular state.

“That sword is...” Dimitri rushed forward to reach Byleth's side; the black knight had turned on his horse, facing her and staring for a long moment. Then he laughed again. “I see. What a pleasant surprise.” And in a flare of purple-pink light, he vanished.

Dimitri stared at the spot where he'd stood for painfully long moment, then turned back toward Byleth. He almost wished he hadn't; the blow from the sword had literally ripped the mage in half; his legs and torso were lying at opposite ends of the tomb. Byleth herself had been splashed with blood and was standing stone still. “Professor?” He asked worriedly. “Professor, are you alright?”

She slowly turned to look at him; he realized with a start that she was trembling – every part of her except for the hand that held the sword. “There are no bones in the casket,” She whispered. “Just...just this.” Slowly she raised the sword, staring at the handle.

“Was that magic?” Claude wondered, jogging over to their side. “We can't even chase after him...” He slowed and gazed down at the sword Byleth was holding with a look of rapturous awe. “Hey Teach...the way that sword is glowing...do you think...” He blinked. “Teach? Are you okay?”

“I...” She looked down at her hands as if she'd never seen them before? “Of course...I just...wasn't expecting the blood...” A green tinge flooded her cheeks. Then – quite suddenly, at that – she doubled over and threw up. Dimitri instinctively yelled Mercedes's name and placed a hand on her back as she coughed. Claude filled the air with worried questions, but Dimitri barely heard them.

Were those tears at the corners of her eyes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sighs heavily) I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I hope it's alright. I'm striving to improve my action scenes, and I hope that this one holds up, but it's briefer than I'd intended it to be. 
> 
> Also, a note about the Western Church. I find it so incredibly bizarre that people say that Rhea executes people on a hair trigger with no evidence. The only people we see her order the execution of are the Western Church...who fostered a rebellion, invaded the monastery to steal what was left of her mother, and tried to murder the students when caught in the act. The fact that they call her a monster and say she can't do this is totally laughable to me; you got caught trying to kill people and steal a precious relic! What were you expecting? (aside from being bailed out by Edelgard?)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude ponders the Sword of the Creator, his enigmatic teacher, and the archbishop's odd behavior.

“As all of you have committed a breach of faith, the archbishop will now pass judgment.”

Claude crossed his arms and leaned against a pillar, watching the scene play out and thinking of how it resembled an attempt on his own life when he was about eight years old. It had been a poisoning – ironic considering his current hobbies – the work of three servants and one of his cousins. Unfortunately for them, they'd used so much nightshade that just a sip of his wine told him something was wrong; he didn't even drink enough to get sick.

Rhea was both smaller and slighter than his father; but her icy, hateful glare as she surveyed the scarred, battered priests was far better suited to an enraged warrior-king than a compassionate woman of faith. She'd held a sword in her life at some point, he was certain of that now. If not a sword specifically, than a weapon of some sort, something used up close and personal, something you drove into your enemy's heart and watched as the life drained out of them. It was eerie how graceful and composed she was in spite of that simmering rage; she stood tall and proud and dignified as ever, her hands still instead of twitching with the hope of spilling blood.

“Inciting a Kingdom noble to rebel. Unlawful entry. The attempted assassination of the archbishop. The assault on the Holy Mausoleum and the attempted murder of the students who confronted you.” Sir Shamir read off tonelessly. He hadn't seen much of the tall sniper before this; apparently she was Catherine's preferred partner, and thus they were often out on missions together. “It is unnecessary to go on, followers of the Western Church.”

“What?! We have nothing to do with the Western Church!” One of the priests exclaimed. Why he expected anyone to believe that, Claude couldn't fathom.

“You have already been identified! Please spare us your second-rate theater,” Seteth said, indigent at the insult to his intelligence.

“Dishonoring a holy ceremony is worthy of death for a member of the church,” Rhea proclaimed solemnly. It was so at odds with the look in her eyes it was almost funny...if any sane person could find such disparity amusing. “You are well past any hope of redemption. If there is any grace remaining remaining in your heart, you would repent in ash and dust and go to the Goddess humbled.”

Claude closed his eyes.

“_He's lying, he's lying!” Natan shouted. His cousin's face was a twisted rictus of emotion; whether he was furious at failing or terrified for his life, the eight-year-old prince couldn't say. “As if I would bother with the half breed enough to try and _poison _him like some spineless Fodlander-” His mother's expression was set in a mask of controlled anger. She didn't lash out, not then, but he saw her hand tighten on her husband's shoulder. “-he's a sneak and a coward! He's trying to get rid of me!”_

“_That's not true,” He retorted, fighting with all his might to keep his voice steady and his chin up. The court was watching him. He was a prince of Almyra and a prince is never weak. “You were hovering over the wine jug for an hour before you gave it to me; Aisling and Meera tried to pour themselves a drink but you wouldn't let them.” _

_Natan had smiled when offering him the glass. He'd called him 'little cousin' instead of 'half-breed', remarked that he was 'actually pretty good' with a bow, offered to take him out hunting. He'd intended that false kindness to be the last thing Claude ever experienced. _

_Was that better or worse then the healer who had tried to smother him when he was sick with fever?_

“_That's right!” Aisling gasped, just now realizing what she'd narrowly avoided. “I was thirsty and I begged you to give me some but you kept saying to find my own! I complained to daddy and he said to just listen to you!” The small girl stared wide-eyed at her brother, too young to realize she had just damned him with her artless outburst. “It was _poison_?” _

_Natan turned white as snow. His jaw worked soundlessly as his eyes darted around the room, seeking some way to escape. _

“No! This isn't what we were told would happen! We were deceived!”

“You think that makes you sound less guilty?” Shamir asked caustically. “It is _done_. Now, try and face your fate with a little bit of dignity.”

“May your souls find peace as they return to the goddess,” Rhea proclaimed, and Claude wondered why words of comfort were being used as a death sentence.

_His father lunged out of the throne to his feet; his rage filled the whole room, instantly silencing the babbling lords. Claude flinched in fear, because there was no trace of his laughing, patient father in the murderous behemoth who stood across from him._

_Without a word, King Kirah stalked down the few stairs, grabbing an axe from one of the guards. He seized the teenager by the hair and dragged him along behind him. Nader and Wolf both stood in concert, coldly kicking the still-cowering servants and herding them along behind._

_Any bravado that his cousin had clung to vanished like the morning mists. He cried for his father, pleaded uselessly, 'why for him, he doesn't belong, I only wanted, please, please, please' as the crowd parted before him. Aisling went as if to follow him, confused and scared, but was stopped by his mother's hand on her shoulder. Tiana von Riegan watched with anger, relief and some regret as Natan's pleading was cut off by the doors slamming shut. _

“_Do you think the father will Challenge?” Nader's wife Nailah asked._

“_No one will support him,” His mother said flatly. “Not after having proven himself and his son both to be so craven.” She turned slightly and gave him a gentle, reassuring smile...told him without words that he could come and sleep by her side tonight, let her chase his nightmares away. She couldn't openly comfort him here; he was a prince of Almyra and princes were not weak._

“This concludes the investigation. Please remove these poor, lost souls from my sight.”

Claude's eyes opened a fraction, listening as the renegade priests continued to curse and beg even as the Knights of Serios dragged them away. The parallels were so close. He wondered how Rhea would react to the men he'd grown up among watching this scene and then calling her rule 'not weak'.

* * *

The Sword of the Creator. The Sword of the King, Sothis's Justice, The Arbitrator, the blade that made Nemesis a divine warrior and then a scourge of the earth when he strayed from the goddess's light. The weapon that decided the fate of the world was being swung back and forth like a common training sword in the hands of an overworked professor.

Claude lingered behind the pillar in the empty training hall, watching Byleth work through another kata, fumbling with the retractable blade as she figured out how to use the distance strike on command. The glass like clatter rang off the walls in the quiet of the dawn; the sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Byleth winced when the blade reassembled, the impact knocking her arm back a bit, and she eyed the blade itself ruefully.

_The greatest of the relics, ripped right out of the legends. I finally found it, and it ended up in Teach's hands, _a mix of frustration and wonder rushed through him. _Can I even use it? If anyone with a Crest can wield a relic, could I...? _He closed his eyes. _Does that matter now, since the Archbishop officially gifted the sword to her? Proclaimed that the sword 'chose' her..._

And that was the important part, wasn't it? The Sword of the Creator wasn't just a weapon of awe inspiring power, it was forged from the blood of the goddess Fodlan so loved, a symbol of her will. Whomever it 'chose' (or however Sothis's blessing allegedly worked) would have authority only the kings and archbishop could match, their dreams for the future divine providence. If he had picked up the sword and used it without being rejected...it wouldn't have mattered that he was a half blood, born of a heretical union; the goddess had made him her champion, and that would be all that mattered to her loving devoted. They would have _flocked _to his hope of opening up Fodlan's borders, changing the structures of the noble class; nothing he spoke of would have been unacceptable – certainly not enough to fight a bloody and bitter war over. Even being the wielder of Failnaught couldn't compare to that.

With that hope dashed, how now would he pursue his dream in a way that wouldn't fill city gutters with the blood of the old order?

Byleth swung the sword again, shifting her stance once and then twice as she accommodated for its weight and balance. Claude wondered if he was projecting his disappointment onto her, or if she really was as uncertain as she seemed; she kept pausing, turning the weapon over in her hand like she was expecting it to either vanish or bite her.

_You're all my hope now, Teach, _he thought somewhat jokingly. _How shall you change the world? _

“Claude?” He started at her soft voice. She turned around to face the pillar, head tilted slightly in that strangely, disarmingly cute way that was so at odds with her usual demeanor. “You don't usually hesitate to approach me. What's on your mind?”

“You were concentrating so hard, I didn't want to interrupt. Seemed like a good way to earn extra homework.”

“I'm never too busy if something's bothering you,” She responded, sheathing the relic at her side.

_How very professional, _Claude nearly teased, but there was something in her expression kept the words behind his teeth. “Thanks. That's very motherly of you.”

He'd meant it as a joke. He wasn't ready for her reaction. Rather than roll her eyes, stare blankly at him, or chide him...she _giggled_.

It was a quiet, seemingly involuntary noise; soft and sweet and all too brief. Her hand shot to her mouth in surprise, and she shook her head lightly as he stared at her. “That's funny...you're not the first person who'd said that to me. It's so strange. My own mother...” Her eyes darkened a bit, that flicker of humor gone in a blink; Claude mourned its absence admist his shock. “...well, I only know her through my father's stories. He's never been the most emotional person. So I guess it's hard to fathom being 'motherly' when I don't really know what that's like.” She tilted her head. “You're...looking at me oddly, Claude. Was it something I said?”

“I don't think I've ever heard you laugh yet,” Claude responded blankly. _Wittiest response ever. Gods damn it. _“It's nice.” _Truly I have the soul of a muse. _

“Oh,” She whispered. To his amazement, a light red flush colored her cheeks. “I...thank you?” Her eyes darted about as she tugged at her sleeve. “It just sort of slipped out.”

“Is it odd to say I hope you slip up again?” He smiled at her. “You have a nice smile, Teach.”

Byleth looked away, faintly sheepish. “Um, I suppose not. Though I'm not prone to...” She gestured vaguely. “I've never been very emotional...” Something flickered across her face; unease, uncertainty. Claude tucked that reaction away for later analysis before changing tact.

“I gotta say Teach, I never would have imagined you were descended from the King of Liberation,” He put his hands behind his head. “You remember that story I told you? About a relic that could cut a mountain in half? That relic was the Sword of the Creator.” He chuckled and added, “So, you know, be careful training with it, alright? Would be a shame to wake up one morning and find half the monastery blown apart.”

His professor did a double take and stared mutely down at the Sword. “It-it can't _actually _do that...can it?” She asked warily.

“Well, that's how the all the stories go.”

Byleth bit her lip. “I don't know many. I'm not sure I'm even related to Nemesis.”

He sighed. _Still don't fully trust me, do you? _“Don't be coy, Teach. The Sword of the Creator could only be wielded by Nemesis; when others tried, they either couldn't lift it or its powers retreated leaving it an ordinary great sword. If you can wield it, that means you have to have his bloodline's Crest.”

She blinked at him, wrapping an arm around her chest. “I...suppose I must.” She mumbled. “I always knew I had a Crest...” another awkward, uneasy pause broke up her thoughts; she shook her head and continued, “it's kind of hard to miss whenever it activates, after all. But I never gave it much thought.”

Claude frowned. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” He shrugged, angrily tamping down on the irrational twinge of hurt in his gut. “But just so you know, 'I don't understand' isn't going to cut it here at the monastery.”

Byleth took a step back, “but I'm not – I'm not trying to keep anything from you!” She protested, a note of heat in her voice. “I truly don't understand. There is much my father has kept from me...I didn't realize _how much_ I didn't know until we were brought here. So far he's resisting my attempts to talk to him about it, and he's so often out on missions...He's never been so distant before.”

The hurt and anger burned out almost immediately, melting into surprise and a little guilt. “Tell you what,” Claude said with a warm smile, “I'll get us a bottle of fine wine, and you invite him up for tea and biscuits when he gets back. I'm an _excellent _host when the mood strikes me, I promise. He'll unbend in no time!”

His teacher blinked once, twice, and when it hit her, she smacked him on the shoulder. It didn't hurt at all – he suspected she was mimicking Raphael – but he playfully winced anyway. “_Claude! _We are _not _getting my father _drunk!_”

“Alright, alright,” Laughing didn't take any effort at all; that look of indignation was so adorable he couldn't help it. “I'll just have to be my usual charming self, then.”

Byleth snorted out through her nose, but he saw her lips curve upward in a faint smile. “Father doesn't care much for tea; he tolerates it for my sake, but he won't seek it out.” She fidgeted with the sword for a moment before saying, “Well, this would give me something to do with that overly expensive tea set Ferdinand all but shoved into my hands yesterday. Will you have tea with me?”

Now it was Claude's turn to blink, blindsided. _That was a joke, _he thought in bewilderment. “Sounds like fun,” his mouth said before his brain could catch up. “Thanks, Teach.”

She smiled at that. It was bright and clear and – just like her giggle fit – gone far too quickly. “Good. Go pick up a sword, why don't you? I think I'm done with this for the morning, and I prefer to spar with a partner.” He must have balked, because she added, “Consider it part of your flexibility training.”

“A sword?! Teach, have mercy on your favorite archer,” He complained as she walked over and set the Sword of the Creator against a pillar. “How am I supposed to become your best student if I'm never in a position to show off?”

“You're already my favorite,” Byleth responded. “Do you think I'd ask if I weren't impressed by you?”

“The last time someone asked me this,” Claude grumbled halfheartedly even as he made his way over to the rack holding the training weapons, “I'm half-convinced he just wanted an excuse to toss me around.”

“Well...you do tease us so,” His teacher responded lightly.

The sun rose slowly over the open ceiling, painting the white pillars with golden beams as they clashed and chased each other across the open floor. Claude was fairly certain he was picking up bruises from each pass, not unlike when Nader was in charge of his weapons training years back. Much to his delight, after the impromptu sword lesson ended with a surprise draw in the final bout, Byleth told him to grab the training bow so she could test his Point-Blank posture. The pleasure he felt at her surprise when he first disarmed her was warm and wine-heavy; she'd never been disarmed by one of her students before. Of course, she'd responded to that by holding back less; he swore that as he kept up with her, met her as best he could even when his breath ran short and his arms ached, her blue eyes brightened. At some point the doors swung open, and then closed, without announcement – allowing them to continue uninterrupted.

Eventually Claude glanced aside. Their visitor was Jeritza, the eerie looking sword instructor he'd expected to be made a professor before Byleth was thrown into the mix. The man said nothing; Byleth smacked his leg with her training sword, drawing him back into the spar.

Jeritza walked around and sat on the steps, watching intently as they worked. His eyes were a cold gray, piercing and empty for all but a wickedly sharp focus. Usually when he observed students training in the grounds, he would bark out sharp but accurate criticisms of their form, their footwork, anything that was out of place. _A distant man, but a capable one._ This morning, however, the warrior seemed content to examine them...to simply watch them.

_No, he's not looking at us. He's looking at Teach..._

“And...stop,” Byleth panted, lowering her sword. “You've improved greatly in such a short space of time, Claude. It makes me wonder why your written tests don't reflect this.”

“They don't truly serve a purpose,” Jeritza rumbled. Byleth turned to look at him curiously; the pale haired man shrugged lightly. “Anything that the pen writes about war and bloodshed will never capture the heart of it. Even magic cannot truly be mastered until one has been on the battlefield.” He stood up. “Might I borrow your professor, Claude? You've worked for long enough, and breakfast is near.”

It was phrased as a question, but had the tone of a dismissal.

Claude couldn't help but shoot Byleth a questioning look. She hesitated, then nodded reassuringly at him. He returned the bow to the rack and retreated to the doorway.

“May I help you, Jeritza?”

“I would like a moment of your time. I would like to spar, actually; I'd hoped to catch you when you weren't busy with your students.”

“Oh...sure. Though I may need to sit and catch my breath for a moment...”

“Certainly.”

Claude hesitated with his hand on the door, glancing over his shoulder uncertainly. There was an undercurrent of excitement in the quiet and sedate Jeritza's voice, a sharp edge to words that were usually lethargic and apathetic regardless of the situation. His body language was more alert, light and careful; he seemed like a predator examining a prospect from afar. Unease chilled his fingers even as he twisted the door; he debated staying, or circling back around to see what happened when Jeritza thought the two of them were alone...

_Getting a little overprotective, am I? Teach can take care of herself. Felix reacted almost exactly like that after she knocked him on his ass in a training bout. I might just be paranoid. _

But he made a mental note to ask her about it later.

* * *

Claude nearly walked into Dimitri upon exiting the dining hall; he blamed getting up early and dwelling on Jeritza's oddness. “Ah! Sorry Claude,” The prince apologized, automatically reaching out to steady the brunette with a hand on his arm. “I shouldn't be standing in the doorway like this.”

“I'm starting to think that you're a bigger moon worshiper than Hilda,” Claude teased, gently tugging his wrist free. His skin tingled from the unexpected, innocent contact. “What's on your mind? Aside from Sylvain sneaking out and bringing a girl back to his dorm room, anyway.”

Dimitri flushed, “Wait, he did that _last night? _But how did you...?”

Claude gave him a deadpan look and responded, “Our rooms aren't that far apart, and unfortunately the walls aren't that thick. You must sleep like the dead, Mitya; Lorenz had more than a few words about it while the rest of us were _trying _to eat breakfast.” He rolled his eyes. “As if he's perfectly innocent. I suppose I should count myself lucky that his 'noble obligations' don't easily lend themselves to casual sex.”

The blonde buried his face in his hands and let out a long, helpless groan. “Argh, what am I going to _do _with him?!” Taking a deep, calming breath, he dropped his arms and scowled very intensely over Claude's shoulder. “Evidently, I need to have a _long overdue _conversation with my old friend. As soon as feasible. I can't believe he managed to sneak _another_ woman in...”

“Dare I ask how long he's been doing this?” Claude asked, grinning. Dimitri merely gave him a pained look in return; his expression said more than words could hope to. “Hah! I wonder if I'm not the only person who's found hidden rooms and stairwells that are all over the place here; if you know where to look, that is.”

“That would certainly explain a few things. I'm _so sorry _about him, Claude; I can't believe how inconsiderate he's being.”

“You really shouldn't apologize for things you have no control over.” The brunette shrugged. “And hey, they didn't make too much of a racket.”

“What in the name of the Goddess constitutes 'too much of a racket' if _that_ was enough to keep you awake?” Dimitri stuttered. His blush deepened and he quickly added, “Actually, I think I'd rather you didn't answer that. In any capacity. Please!”

Claude didn't bother to try and repress his snicker. “I should've figured you'd be shy, being so honor-bound, but really? Oh Mitya. You've never been with anyone before, have you? Have you even kissed a woman? Or a man, if that's your preference?” _Wait. Fuck. I didn't mean to say that last bit- _

“_Claude!_” Dimitri sputtered, his cheeks turning redder still. “Y-You can't just ask someone that out of nowhere! It's – it's inappropriate! Never mind what Sylvain is doing – amusing himself with the company of women he isn't engaged to or even courting; what he intends to do if one of them turns up pregnant I can't even begin to fathom...”

“I don't think he's thought that far ahead,” Claude remarked with a shrug. As a matter of fact, he didn't think Sylvain really liked the women he'd seen him with in town square; the redhead often had the look of someone who was forcing a smile. “Though of course he could be-”

“Claude, _please_-”

“Hehe, sorry,” He put his hands behind his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two people enter the hall, their pace slow as they spoke to each other in an animated fashion. One of them looked vaguely familiar, but he dismissed it in favor of watching upright, serious Dimitri flail about. “It's just hard to imagine you haven't had even one girl try to lure you away for a night. You're quite the catch, after all.”

“I...it might have happened a few times...?” Dimitri managed, something slightly panicky flickering through his face. Abruptly Claude remembered a certain anecdote from the reports he'd secretly carded through and could have happily strangled himself; he opened his mouth to apologize, but the prince didn't seem to have noticed. “I suppose I've not made myself very approachable, however. And frankly I'm too preoccupied to give such things the attention it deserves and requires. Not like you.”

“Eh?”

“Well, I imagine a man who looks like you doesn't have to put any effort into drawing women into your orbit.” Dimitri responded simply.

Claude's instinctive response was a sarcastic, biting remark about a half breed being a cheap lay, an easy source of teen rebellion ultimately grown out of. Then he remembered that Dimitri honestly considered him exotically handsome and his jaw clicked shut, leaving him to fight off a sudden, mortifying blush. _Damn you for being so sweetly naive you don't realize what that sounds like! _“Ehehe...you'd be surprised...”

Dimitri smiled a bit at that, not quite believing him, and mercifully changed the subject. “A-Anyway, to answer your original question, Hannamen is quite eager to speak to Professor Byleth, and commissioned me to go and find her. However Bishop Seteth took her aside so the Archbishop could give her this month's mission.” His brow furrowed. “Say, the Professor arrived to breakfast awfully late. Did something happen?”

“Professor Jertiza asked her for a spar,” Claude explained with a slight shrug that hid his unease well. “I guess they got held up. It's no wonder she was so hungry, though.”

“Oh? That was rather sudden of him.” Dimitri rested a hand against his chin. “Professor Jeritza is an intensely private man...I'm surprised he approached her without prompting. She must have truly impressed him with her swordsmanship.”

“I bet it was because she has the Sword of the Creator now.” The fact that the Archbishop felt confident giving that blade away to someone with a vague background, right after it was nearly stolen...Rhea _had _to know something about Byleth that even her father didn't.

He _really _needed to get into her study. Start trying to find some answers in earnest. Both the riddle of Duscur's Tragedy and Teach's murky past were nipping at his thoughts, all the more frustrating to have to ignore as he put his focus on more immediate things, and it seemed that she might have answers – in some fashion, at least – to both. Unfortunately after the damned false assassination plot, it was going to be weeks, possibly _months _before he could be confident in getting in and out of that room unnoticed.

“I suppose that could be – ah, Professor!” Dimitri broke off and hurried toward the stairwell, Claude following sedately at his heels. As if summoned by their conversation, Byleth had entered the main hall, drawing many stares to the Sword of the Creator, now properly sheathed and strapped to her belt.

“Dimitri, Claude.” She tilted her head. “Having an interesting debate?”

“It's a friendly conversation, Teach. What's with the serious face? And you looked so cheerful this morning...well, cheerful for you, but still.” Claude put his hands behind his head. “Is it the mission Lady Rhea gave you?”

Byleth took a deep breath, shook her head, and said, “I...Dimitri, I feel like I ought to apologize, honestly. I seem to have once again been given a task that one would think would be solely your concern.” She glanced at Claude and said, “We're being sent to hunt a master thief and his bandits within Faerghus. Apparently he's made off with the Lance of Ruin; House Gautier's relic...and the thief is a disowned son of the household.”

Claude let out a low whistle. If nothing else, that thief was either terminally stupid, incredibly bold, or both. Likely both.

“Really?!” Dimitri looked about as shocked as Claude had ever seen him; “Goddess...does Sylvain know? Has he been informed?”

Byleth shrugged uneasily. “I wasn't told. I could tell him myself, if you want, but...” She bit her lip. Claude wondered if she was thinking about Ashe. “It's strange. I did not think to ask why she hadn't given this mission to you and the Blue Lions; I was distracted by the relic, I suppose.” She bowed slightly. “I'm sorry. It must be galling for Alliance students to be given the task of handling unrest within your kingdom.”

“Oh...no, Professor. Please, don't apologize.” Dimitri closed his eyes. “I will admit to being...vexed, for lack of a better word, but it's hardly your fault. If anything, I should apologize for getting the two of you wrapped up in Kingdom troubles. They should be my own concern, not yours.”

“I'm...I'm happy to help,” Byleth said awkwardly. “I just don't wish to overstep.”

“Besides, it'll be the last thing they expect,” Claude offered.

“Well, if it isn't my little Claude?” An alarmingly familiar female voice cut off any further attempts to be witty. He spun around – force of habit – and stared wide-eyed at the two people who'd come up behind them. “What has you so worked up?”

“Judith?!” He blurted out. “What are you doing here?”

“That's _Lady _Judith to you, boy,” The tall brunette snapped, her face set in a familiar unimpressed yet faintly amused look. His tutor hadn't changed a bit since he'd last seen her; imposing, no-nonsense and dry witted. “I told you, until you're in charge I expect you to address me with all due respect.”

Her companion – a tall, stately man with dark blue hair and elegant fur-lined robes preferred by Faerghus nobility – merely strode up to Dimitri with a broad grin. Claude had to stare at him for a few seconds before he realized this stranger rather resembled Felix; or rather, that Felix resembled him. “Your Highness! It's been ages!”

Dimitri's eyes widened, and his confused frown was immediately replaced by an amazed smile. “It's been a long time! Two years, if I'm not mistaken!” He blurted out, rushing forward and openly embracing the newcomer.

Other lords might have been embarrassed or annoyed by the public display of affection. Not this man; the gesture earned the prince a laugh and a pat on the back. “Indeed, your highness! You've grown so much in those years, it took me a minute to recognize you.”

“That's the way of children,” Judith commented, not looking away from Claude. “They shoot up the moment your back is turned.”

Dimitri let go and stepped back, his smile decidedly sheepish, and turned to the now startled-looking Byleth. “Professor, this is Rodrigue, an old friend of my father's. I believe I've mention him to you before.” His eyes glowed; Claude briefly wondered if he'd _ever _seen Dimitri quite this cheerful. “When my father died four years ago, he looked after me as though I were his own son.”

Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius chuckled lightly in response. “You flatter me, your highness. It was my honor to look after such a fine young man.” Looking over at the other two listeners, he said, “It's nice to finally meet you, Professor Esiner. My son Felix has mentioned you in his letters.” Byleth blushed lightly and hurriedly curtsied in response. Then the man turned to Claude, and there was a definite amused curve to his smile when he said, “and you must Claude von Riegan. I've heard quite a bit about you recently.”

“Only the good things, I hope,” Claude responded innocently. Inside, he wondered, _why would Felix...? _right before he realized that the short-tempered swordsman likely hadn't been filling letters with his antics to anyone, much less his father. Then he resisted the urge to turn and stare at Dimitri, or worse, get flustered.

“Hah! There's a good joke,” Judith chuckled.

“Ah,” Dimitri had the grace to look embarrassed. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to speak over you.” He gave her a polite bow. “I don't believe we've ever been introduced.”

The woman favored him with a faintly approving smile, which left Claude a little envious since he knew that gesture to be one that was hard to earn. “How very mannerly of you. We've met once before, not that you would have remembered – a dozen years back I was visiting some distant relatives on a day you happened to be there with their daughter, Ingrid.” She smirked. “You got that growth spurt you wanted, I see.”

“This is Judith, also known as the Hero of House Daphnel.” Claude offered, both for Teach's sake as well as Dimitri's.

“So you're little Claude's teacher, I take it,” Judith looked Byleth up and down. “You're a bit young for that. How much trouble has he been giving you?”

Byleth shook her head. “I haven't had trouble,” she said. “He learns quickly, and he's quite clever. I'm glad to be his teacher.”

“Is that right?” Judith raised an eyebrow. Byleth nodded, her expression serious. Claude's heart did an unexpected backflip; he wrestled the feeling down as hard as he could. “Anyway...I'm here to retrieve you. Duke Riegan's condition has taken a turn for the worse.”

“Is the old man on his deathbed?” He ventured cautiously, trying to ignore Dimitri's sympathetic look.

“No, not that severe. But in the state he's in, he can't participate in the next Round Table Conference. He wants you to go in his stead; I volunteered to play messenger.” Judith's expression suggested that she'd taken the job from someone else – whether she just wanted to see him again or was heading something off, he couldn't be sure. 

“An intimidating place to stand,” Rodrigue remarked lightly. When Claude glanced at him, there was a legitimate shade of sympathy in his eyes. _Maybe that explains why Dimitri is so weird. He picked up the weirdness from his father and his guardian._ “I wish you luck, Riegan. My own contemporaries can be difficult to deal with, and they've known me a long time.”

“Thanks,” He said with a deliberate edge of fatalism. Dimitri choked down a laugh and he swore he saw Byleth's lips twitch upward again. “I'll probably need it.”

“The Hero of Daphnel...” Byleth looked curious. “I think I have heard that before. It happened during an incursion from Almyra, right? The biggest in recent memory, one caused by an uncertainty in the royal succession. You were holding the border.”

“Well, that's ancient history,” Judith said with a dismissive wave of her hands.

“That fight made her the biggest hero in the Leicester Alliance,” Claude couldn't help but add, “She used to be a big deal at the round table conferences, but these days she's reduced to-”

“You better shut your mouth before I put my boot in it, you tactless nuisance!” Judith broke in. Rodrigue hid a laugh under a fake-sounding coughing fit while Dimitri sputtered in simultaneous surprise and amusement. “Now let's get going. Sorry Professor, but I have to borrow the boy for a bit.”

“Bring him back in one piece, please,” Byleth said simply. “If only half of him makes it graduation, my pay will be docked.”

_...Was that a joke? Was that an honest-to-gods joke from the Ashen Demon? _There was a glitter of light in her eyes that nearly had him in stitches. _I think it was! _“Your concern for me is utterly heartwarming, Teach,” he deadpanned. She flashed him a quick, small smile, and he laughed incredulously. _It was. She actually told a joke. Apparently, grandfather, I'm a wonderful_ _influence! _“Guess we'll have to finish this conversation later. Nice to meet you, Lord Fraldarius.” He made sure to give the man a proper bow before turning to follow Judith from the hallway.

He heard Rodrigue and Dimitri speaking to each other as they left. Probably filling him in on the details of the theft; the Shield of Faerghus wouldn't come all this way just for a social call.

“So that was the famous Professor Eisner.” Judith gave him a sideways look as they walked toward the stables. “Did you see her using the Sword?”

“With my own eyes,” Claude responded seriously. “She batted fire spells aside as if they were nothing, and it glows in her hands. Her Crest is compatible. The Archbishop has officially placed the relic in her care to use as she sees fit.”

Judith whistled. “Once that news starts making the rounds, she'll be drowning in suitors desperate to bring that power into their families.”

“...Probably,” Claude acknowledged with a sudden, piercing stab of annoyance. “Fortunately, dear Teach is not one to suffer fools gladly.”

“No wonder she's been so good at corralling you.” He didn't dignify that with a response other than an eyeroll. “Still, the Sword being in use for the first time in a thousand years, a child of the King of Liberation's bloodline resurfacing...I'm not the sort to put stock in omens, but I'm a little uneasy. Why now?”

He shrugged. “Because the goddess willed it?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you actually believe that?”

“I don't know what I believe.” Claude muttered, looking straight ahead. “Not yet.”

* * *

_There's a saying among the merchant class that a committee is a body that keeps minutes and looses hours. It sounds funny until you realize it's true. _

Claude leaned back against his wooden chair, trying not to obviously stare at the wooden clock counting down the final minutes of the last day of the Conference as if willing it to turn faster. Lord Gloucester and Margrave Edmund were arguing again; the former accusing the latter of not minding the Forest of Beasts and thus indirectly allowing a monster attack on the man's land, and the latter was furiously denying it and firing back with the allegation that several men had been caught with whips and spells attempting to tame a beast near the border. At least Gloucester had finally shut up about the merchant trails he'd been trying to reroute for his own benefit (_it only took him three goddamned days_), and Holst Goneril was doing his best to help keep the peace.

“_Enough_,” He thundered at last, slamming his palm on the table. The two lords paused in their argument; Gloucester glaring angrily at him, Edmund slightly more contrite but largely appearing disgruntled. “The Forest of Beasts has been a bane on this land since before the Alliance itself. Margrave Edmund does an admirable job preventing the beasts within from swarming out at random intervals, but to fully encircle the woods would require all the armed forces he could muster and effectively abandon his borders. Twice before the lords of this land have attempted to burn the forest and destroy whatever evil lurks within, and twice before the results were a bloody failure. It's absurd to accuse anyone in this room of underestimating it.”

He turned his head and calmly addressed Marianne's father. “Margrave...have you seen any sign of the Wandering Beast?”

Claude could almost see the chill settling over the table at that name. The Wandering Beast was an ancient horror, a famous one; children who lived in the Alliance were warned not to go out at night alone, lest the Wandering Beast would find and devour you. All anyone knew was that it was a demonic beast, far bigger and more powerful than any other in existence; its stony hide was riddled with broken lances, swords and arrows from all the failed attempts to slay it. Few had seen it and lived to tell; it preferred to linger within the Forest, coming out to feed at night.

“No, Duke Riegan.” Edmund shook his head. “We have seen more demonic beasts leaving the forest than in my father's time, but the devil itself has done little beyond terrorize the nearby rivers in the dead of night. I believe it's safe to say that the beasts that do leave are behaving independently of it.”

He snorted. “Well, there's some good news then, at least.” The thought that the Wandering Beast could control other demonic beasts was just a rumor, but it was a disturbing one, and the one time it had left the forest to rampage through what would eventually become the Alliance, a horde of its fellow wild beasts had joined it. “I'll lend you a handful of men to keep a closer eye on the forest edges. Hopefully we'll be able to catch the next one before it manages to hit a village.”

Edmund inclined his head in gratitude; Gloucester sat back in his chair with a fierce scowl. Claude would consider it a mark of personal pride should he eventually get the man to greet him with a neutral expression rather than hateful disdain.

The bell rang with merciful finality. Claude stood, resisted the urge to stretch or groan with relief. “The Conference is adjourned. I'll see you all again in the future.”

He rather hoped they didn't read anything into the fact that he was the first person out the door.

Judith was waiting for him outside the building; she nodded politely at Gloucester before gesturing for him to enter the carriage. He gave the man a tight smile, climbed in, and let out an explosive sigh the instant his tutor shut the door behind her. “Wake me for the Ethereal Moon,” He mumbled, dropping his head against the curtain-shaded window.

She scoffed as the carriage started moving. “It was that bad, huh?”

“It's nice to see that Lorenz comes by his argumentative personality honestly. ...I seriously think I'm going to sleep until we get back to the monastery. That was far more exhausting than sitting down for four days had any right to be.”

“I warned you,” Judith snorted.

He mumbled some sort of response, or tried to, because even with the rumbling of the carriage he was quickly slipping away from the waking world. The last coherent thought he had was, _I really hope that Teach was serious about that tea party..._

True to his word, he slept for the better part of the day, forcing Judith to shake him awake when they stopped at an inn for the night. He drank a glass of water, wandered up to his room and collapsed on the bed. His dreams were a tangled mess, bits of the conference mixed together with varying memories of his grandfather.

_I wonder why Gloucester hates me so much. He doesn't know who my father is...or does he suspect? That damned knight figured it out just by looking at me... No, I don't think that's it. He would have called me something other than 'child' if that was the case. Something's there, though. Maybe it's just the old family rivalry. _

_That talk about the merchants being 'safer' if they followed his routes...if that's a threat, I'm not sure how he intends to follow up on it in a way that doesn't make it obvious he's involved. Mercenaries can be expensive, and they talk if they're disgruntled enough. His own knights are too potentially recognizable. But he wouldn't say that after being denied the first few times unless it meant something. How would he go about it? _

_Ugh. I'm too tired for this. Who knew arguing took so much out of you? _

For a brief moment he envied Dimitri immensely, questioned the logic of his great-however many grandfather who had seceded from Faerghus, and dearly missed his home where the throne dealt with the occasional challenger to the throne but nothing else.

The next morning he felt a little less like roadkill, though his headache hadn't fully gone away. He and Judith parted ways at the crossroads and the convoy took him the rest of the way of the three day trip back to the monastery. It was monotone and boring and Claude found himself randomly, frequently wishing that his classmates had come with him. He missed Hilda's chatter, Raphael's single-mindedness and Byleth's quiet concern. He would have welcomed Sylvain's flirting or Felix's barbs and grumpiness, hell he wouldn't have minded Ingrid's nagging if it meant he had company.

It was startling how strong that desire was.

* * *

The first thing Claude did upon returning to the monastery in the evening was look for Byleth. It took a couple of tries, but he eventually stumbled over her by the docks, putting away the rod and picking up the basket full of fish from a long afternoon's work.

“Oh, Claude,” Byleth said, spinning around at the sound of his footsteps. “I hadn't expected you until tomorrow.”

“We made good time,” Claude said, peeking into the basket. “That's an awful lot of trout.”

“They're the most common. I'd hoped for a bit more variety, but I suppose that's for another day.” Byleth tilted her head and stared at him for a moment before saying, “I remember promising you tea. Let me get these into the kitchen and I'll set it up in my room.”

He grinned. “You have no idea how welcome that is. Thanks Teach!”

She nodded thoughtfully and said, “Go on ahead; I'll be there in a moment.” She ducked her head lightly and then headed for the stairs. Still smiling to himself, Claude scampered off up the stairs to the lower class dormitories.

Was this what it felt like to have a friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I think this is the first Claude chapter that gave me trouble. I intended to have a scene where he spoke with his grandfather here, but I was so unhappy with what I wrote up no matter how many times I changed it that I just cut it out. I do intend for that character to make an appearance or two, but it's pushed back for now. Also yes, I'm throwing out references to Maurice nice and early, because I think its odd that no one other than a random crest scholar talks about the gigantic goddamned demonic beast that has apparently been eating people for some time. And that's before you factor in the forest being a 'den' of demonic beasts. 
> 
> You might notice this story is now listed as part of a series; that's largely because I'm giving serious thought to writing a side story where each chapter contains the POV of the other students, the knights, Edelgard, etc. If you guys are interested in that, I'll go ahead with it.
> 
> Something else that's been on my mind since I started writing this story is supports that the game could have had, but didn't. Firstly of course we have Claude/Dimitri. I imagine their C support would largely consist of Dimitri lecturing Claude for taking nothing seriously while Claude teases him for being overly uptight, though it would end with Claude letting slip that Dimitri is lucky he can unconditionally trust people. Their B support I'm a bit hazy on, but their A support I can see clearly - basically, they tell each other how much they admire each other's strengths and that they're both better people then they believes themselves to be. 
> 
> I'm also thinking of Claude/Bernadetta (I imagine Claude flexing his social savvy to help her while Bernadetta eventually becomes confident enough to declare that she wouldn't give up her Almyran friend for anything) Mercedes/Caspar (mostly consisting of Mercedes fretting over him while he charges headlong into danger...) and Leonie/Linhardt (Linhardt comes to admire how dedicated and tenacious Leonie is, while she respects that he's pretty smart when he puts his mind to it) 
> 
> Next chapter...is Miklan. (chuckles) Buckle up, everyone.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth leads her students to retrieve the Lance of Ruin. Things do not go as planned.

_You're so self-conscious, _Sothis remarked in exasperation as Byleth made her way up the stone stairs, the last rays of sunlight painting rose and golden streaks across the roof and walls. _There was no cause for you to wait until the last hour of the day to go to the baths! _

_I had to finish my lesson plan, _Byleth protested, starting to unsnap her cape as she reached the top step. _Shamir asked me to continue Cyril's studies while she was busy helping with the Knight's investigation into the local Western Churchs. He's younger and shorter than the others, so I needed to adjust the basic training regime to suit his current capabilities. _

_That did take some time, _Sothis allowed, _and I was a little surprised the young boy was allowed to join your class a few months in...and below the minimum age requirement to boot. Though perhaps Lysithea shall feel less self-conscious now that she is no longer the youngest student in your class?_

_So long as Claude feels the urge to wind her up, I doubt it, _Byleth thought. An odd bubbly feeling sparked a few times in her chest. _Ah, I don't like the idea of bringing Cyril along to this mission. When we corner these thieves, they'll sooner fight to the death than be turned over to the Kingdom's custody. It's not a good fight to bring a newcomer to, and we don't have time for team-building exercises before we need to head out. _

Sothis hummed sympathetically. _I believe you can find some cause to leave him behind; I imagine it wouldn't be too hard to argue that he's too inexperienced to bring to a mission in a week's time. _Byleth nodded slightly, slinging her cape over her arm while walking up to the door to the girl's baths. The doorknob was warm to the touch as she pushed the door open. The steam warmed her skin; she smiled a bit, because being able to visit lord-style bathhouses was a rare treat while Jeralt's Mercenaries were traveling the roads.

Walking into the change room, Byleth blinked when she saw a dark purple coat hanging forlornly on one of the hooks. _Ah, it seems someone else has neglected taking care of themselves until the last dying minute, _Sothis remarked cheerily. _You two can be friends!_

_There's no need for that, _Byleth grumbled back, stripping out of her academy uniform piece by piece. _You nag worse than Hannah. _Wrapping her towel around herself, glad of its fluffy warmth, she pushed through the door to the baths.

“EEK!” Instinct made her tense up and look wildly about for danger. “P-Professor!” However, the bathhouse was peaceful and empty except for herself and a sole other occupant. “W-What are you doing here?” The small girl gasped, sucking in a huge breath as her eyes grew really wide. “Oh no...I'm cutting into your time here? I'm so sorry! I thought no one would be here, I'll get out right away, I'm really sorry-”

“Bernadetta,” Byleth interrupted gently, relaxing her posture and letting her gaze settle on the girl who'd climbed halfway out of the bath in her panic. “Bernadetta, please, it's alright. You don't have to leave...these rooms are designed for more than one person's use.”

“Oh,” Bernadetta squeaked faintly, sinking back into the bubbly hot water until she was submerged up to her chin. “I'm sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Byleth repeated patiently, draping the towel over the the rack at the side and sliding into the large tub across from the diminutive Black Eagle. The hot water felt glorious on her aching joints; she tilted her head back, soaking her hair and running her fingers through it carefully. “I'm sorry I startled you.”

Bernadetta mumbled something inaudible in response, rubbing her shoulders self-consciously. Byleth let the silence linger; the purple-haired girl was a timid, anxious soul, and she found that it helped to allow her young student to start or finish conversations as she wished; it seemed to make her a bit more comfortable. She focused on scrubbing her skin clean and combing tangles out of her hair. _This is glorious, _she thought in relief. _Perhaps I'll give into Hilda's nagging after the mission and spend an afternoon in the sauna with her. Maybe see if I can convince Marianne to come along as well. _

Her shoulder blade twinged in pain. Byleth frowned, turning in the water as she reached back to rub the sore muscle. _Ah, I need a massage. How long has that kink been there? _

“Professor! Y-Your back...” Bernadetta's cry startled her so greatly she nearly toppled over; she glanced over shoulder, wondering what was wrong now. The girl had stepped forward, a hand partially outstretched, eyes wide. “T-That scar...”

“Oh,” Byleth said, bewildered. “I...have quite a few, I realize, but that's...just part of being a mercenary. None of them hurt anymore.”

“N-None? E-Even this, this super huge one? It-it goes from your shoulder to your hip...” Byleth was a little surprised to feel slightly calloused fingers brushing against her wet, scarred skin. “H-How did that happen?”

“...To be honest, I don't remember.” Byleth closed her eyes. “Do you see a thin scar, like a knife wound, somewhere near the top of that burn?” The finger traveled up a bit and brushed along the short length of the ragged memory. “When I was fifteen, a job my father and I had taken in the Alliance went south. The local lord had paid us to deal with some oddly well-equipped bandits; it turned out that they were soldiers from his neighbor in disguise, and they set the village on fire when father figured that out. I was separated from him, lead away by the chaos, and some point I got stabbed right there.”

“D-Did the burn come from the fire? It...it looks a bit odd...”

“It didn't.” Byleth let out a sigh. “A man on a wyvern appeared, killed my attacker, and took me away from there. He was Almyran; that much I know, though not why he was there or what compelled him to help me if not normal altruism.” She shook her head. “However...that's the last thing I remember. The scar looks strange because the wound was caused by dark magic.”

“...I-I remember Professor Manuela saying something like that...” Bernie murmured, the sensation of her careful touch vanished. “Dark magic can have all kinds of effects that pure Black magic doesn't. Skilled practitioners can do all sorts of horrible, horrible things...”

“It's true.” Byleth sighed. “I remember that it wasn't meant for me. That I had been protecting someone. But the blow hit me, and aside from pain, that's the only thing I remember. The days I spent in Almyra that year, who attacked us, the very person I was trying to protect...all of it was gone when I woke up. Father reunited with me a few days later, but I haven't remembered anything since.”

There was a long pause, the sloshing of the water the only sound in the building. Then Byleth felt fingers gently trace the edges of the scar again and stiffened slightly, confused and unsure what more to say.

“...It's scary.” Bernadetta mumbled.

“What is?”

“You're strong, Professor. You're so, so strong, s-stronger than anyone I've ever met. You can beat Ferdinand and Caspar and Edelgard; a-and you fight slavers and bandits l-like they're nothing, l-like they're uppity c-children. It's...it's kind of reassuring, you know? Having you here. Especially after those people snuck in. B-But...” Her hand retreated again. “The world is horrible place, isn't it? Even you...”

Byleth hesitated, then turned around and reached up, brushing strands of wet hair away from Bernadetta's eyes. “My job is to go looking for trouble,” She said softly. “You can't do that without picking up scars here and there, no matter how good you are at fighting. Out there...it isn't quite so frightening when you're just traveling.” Gently she tucked a few purple strands behind the other girl's ear. “One of my favorite things to do is take a high road whenever we're crossing hills or mountains so I can look down at the world in all its glory. In the fall there are so many colors its as if the ground is littered with jewels and gold; it's quite a sight, especially if you're passing by Deirdru.”

“...I've never been to Deirdru...I've never been outside the Empire before coming here.” Bernadetta said, leaning into Byleth's hand seeking reassurance. “It's too scary. I'm just a weak, frail, useless girl, nothing like you. I'd never survive.”

“Why would you say that?” Byleth stood still, hesitant that any shift in her posture would scare the smaller girl away.

“...I've only ever been bait for a rich husband.” Bernadetta murmured. “Father trained me for it; tied me to a chair for a day challenging me to stay quiet. He set me up for dance lessons and never let me skip, even when I was sick. But I couldn't do any of it right; I tried, honestly...” She raised a hand and clung to Byleth's arm. “I always retreated to my room. Again and again, until he tried to take me out one day and I kicked and screamed and clawed and bit him...” She shuddered in spite of the hot water, sinking back into it a few inches.

“That's horrible.” Byleth murmured, something cold and hard settling in her stomach. She could have sworn she heard Sothis _growl –_ not a low sound in the throat that her father often made in battle, but an actual, distinctly inhuman thundering _snarl._

“I can barely step outside my room without feeling this overwhelming fear...” Bernadetta closed her eyes. “Archery helps a little, but I'm nowhere near as good as Claude. I'd never be able to protect people or myself like he can.”

“I've seen you practicing. You're no less capable than Ashe or Ignatz. You can and will get better.” She tried for a smile, the kind that Claude effortlessly summoned that made the recipient feel odd and warm inside their chest.

Bernadetta let out a small whine, eyes screwing closed as tears prickled the edges. “I...”

Byleth gently brushed her thumb against the smaller girl's cheek. “It's alright, Bernadetta. I'll protect you. I promise.”

“I...” The smaller girl sniffled, ducking her head. “I don't...”

“It's okay.”

“I don't...want to be the reason...for scars...”

“I'll wear them proudly.” Byleth responded with a calm she didn't quite feel, stroking Bernadetta's hair while the girl broke down and cried piteously. _She looks so fragile...like a little glass doll. Her father did this? Her father, her protector, tied her to a chair and filled her with fear until she can hardly bear to go outside? _The sheer wrongness of it sat heavily in her head. Her father had guarded her all her life. She knew in her bones that he would do anything for her, even die. That Lord Varley would not do the same...that he would actually _harm _Bernadetta...it was alien. Wrong. “Come now. Let's finish up and get some sleep.”

Bernadetta nodded meekly through her tears. She tried to smile, but it quickly crumbled. For some reason, the sight of that agitated Byleth greatly.

* * *

She must have been troubled by her conversation with Bernadetta, because instead of waking with the sun, she was roused from an uneasy sleep the next morning by a repeated knock on her door. “Mmmph?” She managed, propping herself up on her elbows and staring bleary-eyed at the wooden door to her room.

“Ah, good morning Professor! I was sent to get you. Are you awake?” Flayn's voice drifted from the other side.

“Well, I am now.” She grumbled, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and rubbing her eyes harshly. Sunlight was streaming through her curtains. That couldn't be right – was it mid morning already? “What time is it?”

“It is just before breakfast.” The green haired girl relayed dutifully. “However, there's a matter that R – that Archbishop Rhea needs to discuss with you as soon as possible, so if you would come with me first, that would be greatly appreciated!”

“What could she possibly need so early...” Byleth grumbled, fumbling with the lock on her trunk as she hunted for a clean outfit. _Wait...since when is this early? I've gotten up with the sun for the longest time. _Shoving that aside, she yanked out the second copy of the academy uniform she'd been provided with and called, “Give a minute to get dressed, I'll be right with you...”

The Sword of the Creator sat innocently on her desk, glittering in the sunlight as she pulled her shirt, pants and boots on one after the other. She could feel its warmth from the other side of the room; something inside her sang at the proximity (it could only be her Crest). Brushing her hair with rapid, irritated strokes, she pinned it back as she stood and walked over to the sword. Grasping the hilt, she lifted it and examined the blade for a moment, judging if it needed any maintenance. It didn't seem to, (_had it even burned the bloodstains from the last battle away?_) so she buckled it at her side and pushed the door open.

Flayn chirped another greeting when she emerged, bouncing on her heels. Byleth gave her a bemused nod and began to walk, following the energetic blur as she took off toward the stairs. “It is a marvelous day, is it not?” Flayn asked enthusiastically. “It had been cloudy for so long I'd feared we wouldn't see the sun until the end of summer!”

“It's pleasant,” Byleth agreed mildly, glancing up at the cloudless sky.

“That is one way of putting it,” Flayn responded, a little put out. “It's wonderful fishing weather. I hope that I will be able to scrounge together some bait for the afternoon.” She pouted. “It's terrible that the merchants have been facing so much trouble from bandits on their regular routes! Usually we have men peddling all sorts of wares down in the courtyard by this time of year, but they've been held up because the roads aren't safe.”

“Is that right? That's...not a good sign.” Highway men were an old trouble, after all. The thing that made a road 'unsafe' was when multiple bodies turned up along the same stretch. Otherwise injuries and thefts were just a normal job hazard; and the reason escorting caravans was a lucrative job for a mercenary.

“Indeed it is not,” Flayn said sadly. “I hope that the Knights will settle the matter of the Western Church soon, so they can go back to assisting the people with their troubles. That is what the order was formed for, after all.”

Byleth nodded sedately as they walked down the long road past the training grounds toward the side entrance of the Monastery. It didn't escape her notice that there were more armed guards wandering about – mostly low-ranked Knights of Serios, but there were some mercenary-types mixed in as well, a strange sight to see in a holy place. There was an undercurrent of unease, one that had lingered in the weeks since the attempted assassination/theft had been thwarted. The inhabitants of the monastery would not quickly forget how deeply the Western Church fanatics had penetrated into the building despite how high security had been.

Jeralt confided in her that he thought there was a leak, and a big one at that. Byleth thought he might be right, though he wondered that if this hypothetical mole knew where Rhea would be and how she would react, why they'd tried to steal the Sword instead of luring the archbishop out of the building to somewhere where they could attempt to kill her with fewer obstructions. Though perhaps they had multiple objectives...

“-would like to have more opportunities to bond with you, but my brother is resistant to the idea,” Flayn's chattering pierced through her thoughts, shaking her back to the present. “I do not know why. Your students are so happy and speak very highly of you.”

“...Your brother's job is to be suspicious.” Byleth allowed. “He is the Archbishop's administrator and he clearly wishes to keep her safe. The arrival of my father and I was unusual to say the least, and I was hired on the spot without a word to him. At least, that is the impression I've been given.”

Flayn frowned a bit. “You are taking his needlessly constant suspicion quite gracefully, professor. That alone speaks well of you.”

Byleth shrugged uncertainly, tugging at a loose strand of her hair. She felt awkward at the praise. _No need to be embarrassed, _Sothis said with an amused laugh. _You're awfully easy to fluster for an 'emotionless warrior'. _

_I...Sothis...! _Byleth started to protest, but trailed off, groping for words to explain her confusion. Shaking her head, she walked along behind Flayn as the girl lead her into the chapel.

Rhea was waiting there, smiling warmly when she saw them enter the room. Seteth was frowning again, arms crossed, standing to her right. Standing off to the side were...Felix, Sylvain and Ingrid? Byleth blinked at them before looking back at the Archbishop. “You sent for me, Lady Rhea?” She asked with a polite half bow.

“Indeed. Forgive me for bringing you up here so early, but there was a matter that needed to be settled regarding your mission at the end of the week.” Rhea glanced at the Blue Lions students for a moment with a look that Byleth couldn't interpret. “There has been...a bit of concern, regarding Alliance students traveling within Kingdom territory during these somewhat volatile times. With this in mind, I would like to know if bringing two students from the Blue Lions along with you would cause you any significant difficulties.”

“I...do not believe so,” Byleth said slowly, glancing over at Felix. He was scowling intensely, but that was close to his default expression, so she was unsure how aggravated he truly was in that moment. “While we haven't trained side by side as extensively as my students have, building trust and strategies, we did fight side by side in the Mausoleum. They are each very capable in their own right; I trust them to be a great assistance.”

Ingrid smiled at that. Sylvain smiled too, but it reminded her of some of Claude's smiles – a cover for the unhappiness lingering in his eyes.

“I'm glad to hear that,” Rhea said, pleased. “Choose whoever you think will work best with the skills of your own students. I trust your judgment.” Seteth's expression was neutral, but Byleth was fairly sure that his eyes flickered over to the Archbishop in frustration.

“Thank you.” She said, pretending she hadn't noticed. “If the territory we will be entering is uncertain, is there anything else I should bear in mind?”

“Only that you continue to be cautious,” Rhea responded. “The Heroes Relics, even when in the hands of one who is unqualified, are still weapons, and dangerous ones. There will be a Knight of Serios with you as you travel through the villages, but they may be understandably wary of new conflict in the wake of the thief attacks. Ensure that your students are mindful of this, and remain respectful to whomever you encounter on the way.”

“Of course, Your Worship.”

At that, Rhea turned towards the three to the side. “I hope this is an adequate answer to your family's worries,” She said gently. “Now, how about all of you go and eat a good meal before the day's training starts?”

“Your compassion is boundless, Your Worship!” Sylvain said cheerfully. “I am honored that – ow, ow, Ingrid!” The blonde rolled her eyes and continued to drag him along by the arm, ignoring his flailing. Felix stomped along behind them, clearly irritated. Byleth hastily bowed again and hurried after them, wondering what had happened to influence Rhea's decision so close to the mission day.

“I'm sorry about this, Professor,” Ingrid said once they reached the bottom of the stairs, seemingly reading Byleth's mind. “I know this is very sudden and likely throwing a wrench in your plans, but...”

“It's damned insulting that we were passed over for a Relic Theft in our own kingdom,” Felix bit out. “There's no reason it shouldn't have fallen on us. It's our concern, not the Alliance's.”

“Felix!” Ingrid hissed, releasing Sylvain's arm. She gave Byleth a contrite look and said, “Well, he is partially right. It'll be seen as very strange if at least one of us isn't there to contribute to the retrieval of the Lance of Ruin. We don't want our people to think that we believe fighting bandits is beneath us.”

“And hell, if I'm going to eventually inherit the weapon, I should at least put a token's effort into getting it back,” Sylvain finished with a cheerfulness that she didn't quite find appropriate.

“_You're_ not coming,” the words flew out of Byleth's mouth, hard and authoritative, without her even thinking about them. All three students looked startled, at least as much as she herself was. “I've been told who the leader of the bandits is,” she went on after a moment. “I'm not putting you in that position, not after inflicting that on Ashe. No. You're staying here.”

“Professor,” Sylvain started, a little off balance. “I, er, appreciate the sentiment, but seriously, this is different. Miklan is no longer a part of house Gautier, or my brother. He's nothing but a common thief. I can live with it if he refuses to come quietly and has to go down.”

Byleth crossed her arms. “I will never again put someone in the position where they have to kill family,” She said bluntly. “It was ill thought out of me to accept Ashe's plea in the first place, and as a result he witnessed his father's death. I refuse to make that mistake twice.” She tilted her head. “I know you're a strong fighter, and you are continuing to learn quite well. But this is not your fight.”

Sylvain opened and closed his mouth, bewildered, fumbling for an argument. Deciding that she wasn't going to give him the chance, Byleth turned towards Felix and said, “I would like you to come, Felix. A number of my students fight best at range, and even with better armor they would benefit greatly from a guard who can hit fast and hard.” And he would clearly be incensed should he be left behind again.

“Got it,” Felix said, his foul temper lifting to the point that he could give her a small grin.

“As for the others...I'll speak to Claude and figure out which way is best to proceed.” Byleth said thoughtfully. “Either way, let us get to the dining hall, lest breakfast finish without us.”

“That sounds good,” Ingrid replied with an explosive sigh. “We've been arguing out case since yesterday. I could use a good meal after finally succeeding.”

_Since yesterday?, _Byleth wondered but didn't ask. Instead the four of them started making their way across the building toward the dining hall. Sylvain kept shooting her odd looks when he thought she wasn't looking; he didn't seem upset per say...mostly confused, and a few other things she had no hope of untangling. Ingrid subtly fished for a potential spot on the team, continually mentioning her ability to resist magic and how well she was handling her new pegasus; honestly, Byleth was considering her, but she wanted a second opinion. Felix said little but was clearly torn between being pleased that he was chosen for the mission and holding onto his initial frustration.

Entering the dining hall was like being enveloped in a warm bubble; the wave of conversation crashed over her as she walked in and headed the counter to serve herself. Bernadetta was hovering over a plate of chicken at the far end of the table; Byleth caught the girl's eye, saw her wide-eyed look, and tried once again for a reassuring expression. Bernadetta squeaked, looked all about the room, before scurrying away after the person beside her cleared their throat. _At least she felt comfortable coming here to eat, _the professor thought ruefully.

Loading up her plate was an unexpected pleasure. They'd often had to be frugal with their food while on the road, if not straight up relegated to rations. This, however? This was marvelous. She was surprised how often she felt a little hungry throughout the day, knowing she could come here and grab fruit or vegetables even when it wasn't mealtime.

Walking over to the Golden Deer table surrounded her with laughter and cheering; Caspar had wandered over from the Black Eagles and challenged Raphael to some sort of eating contest, Hilda was cheering the latter on over Lorenz's protests while Claude and Leonie watched with greatly entertained smiles. Lysithea made a face until Byleth settled in the seat between her and the house leader, mumbling 'boys' and clearly hoping for a sympathetic ear.

“Boys indeed,” Byleth mused. “Just be glad Gustav is out with father. He'd just encourage them.”

Lysithea groaned. “There's a scary thought...”

She snorted. “Oh, it's scarier than that. His favorite are drinking contests.” The white haired girl shuddered dramatically; a warm, tight feeling settled in Byleth's chest again. Was this what it felt like to joke with people? To be amused by some mutual exasperation? It that were so...it was nice...

* * *

It was raining again, threatening a storm. Byleth firmly told herself that the sinking feeling in her stomach was wholly the fault of the chill of cold water and _nothing else. _Not feelings of deja vu, not flashbacks to Lonato's rebellion and _certainly_ not dread. That bred doubt and a mercenary must cast doubt aside before going into battle.

They were approaching Conand Tower at the end of a two week journey. Neither Ingrid's pegasus nor Leonie's horse were particularly pleased with the weather, frequently whinnying in complaint as they trudged along the muddy, winding pathway from the village inn they'd stayed at to the old fortress. Hilda's continued moaning had become background noise roughly yesterday; Ignatz's glasses were wet to the point that Ingrid was effectively guiding him as well as her mount. There was a greater determination to stick it out and remain strong then when they had been trailing Magdred Way, but it was hard to stay positive with the heavens opening on them.

She started when an extra layer of warmth settled over her shoulders. Her hand darted up and grabbed thick yellow fabric; it was one of the blankets kept with the tents. Why...? She turned her head in time to see Claude pat her shoulder and smile in his usual incorrigible way.

“I know you're not the type to complain, Teach, but there's really no need for you to be shivering like a leaf,” He said with a lazy smile. “It wouldn't make for a good tale if we single-handedly defeated the bandits only for our fearless leader to get knocked off her feat by a fever.”

“...This is _yours_,” She said blankly.

Claude pretended not to hear her, striding ahead. “Hey Gilbert, I have a question...” Maybe she was imagining it, but Byleth was fairly certain she saw the old knight's shoulders slump in resignation. He had probably started to regret promising to assuage Claude's curiosity four days ago, and now he knew there was no escape.

Byleth stared after him, her pace slowing just a bit as she tugged on the edges of the blanket now forming a buffer between her and the downpour.

“_That's a really good smell,” His face lit up when she placed the cup on table before him. The sight of such uncomplicated glee in him was quite charming. “Almyran Pine Needles...you've got exotic tastes, Teach.”_

“_I like the flavor.” She sat on the edge of her bed, having given him the only chair, and sipped lightly on the hot liquid. “It's always been my favorite.” _

_Something flickered in his eyes, gone as soon as it appeared, and he promptly began regaling her with the tale of a baby albino wyvern he'd found as a child while out hunting. After multiple bites and scratches and half of the rabbit that had originally been his quarry, he convinced it to come out of the warren it had been hiding in and allow him to pick it up. One of its wings was injured; he suspected it had been kicked out of the nest for being the runt of the litter. So he carried it all the way back to the starting point, startling the hell out of his mother by coming up behind her while she was distracted and having it chirp. Once she'd gotten over her heart attack, she informed him that it could stay if he was prepared to take care of it. That had been his job ever since, with her only conceding to take over when he left for the officer's academy._

“_I think,” Byleth mused, “I know why you tell so many jokes at the expense of others.” She took a sip, put her cup down and mildly said, “You're afraid they'll find out you're actually a giant, sweet and fluffy kitten.” _

_Claude threw back his head and laughed for several seconds, shoulders shaking. “Sure,” he managed breathlessly, “Yeah, that's it. Definitely. Y-you s-saw right through me, Teach.” _

_She felt her lips twitch upward. She must be getting used to the oddness that was Claude von Riegan; it was endearing to prod him and be rewarded with little flickers of honesty whenever he felt comfortable. It was...nice. _

“_And there's that tiny smile again.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “You're such a mystery.”_

_Light heat spread through her cheeks. “That's...” She ducked her head, looking down at her tea. “There's really nothing strange about me...j-just look at me...”_

“_I am.”_

“Professor? Are you okay? You're face looks red.”

Byleth blinked rapidly and turned towards a concerned-looking Lorenz. “I'm alright, thank you.” She said awkwardly. “Though I hope we arrive soon.”

“This rain is awful,” Mercedes groaned, pulling her coat up so it covered her hair. “I hope that it stops by the time we have to go. It would be _terrible _to have to walk back in this as well.” Lorenz immediately offered her his hand when they walked up to a mud puddle. Byleth swore she saw Mercedes – sweet, lovely, mannerly Mercedes – roll her eyes a bit before accepting it with her usual smile.

“Here's to hoping,” Felix muttered darkly, stalking alongside his fellow student and sending Lorenz the occasional warning glare. The swordsman was particularly soaked, having forgone a heavy cloak with at his own insistence – saying it would weigh him down. He'd been given a jacket by one of their accompanying knights, but it wasn't working as well as he'd clearly hoped.

“I remember the maps and the times that the villagers gave us,” Ignatz offered, stumbling along behind them. “We should be there shortly.”

“Shortly,” Byleth repeated to herself, tugging the blanket a bit tighter around her shoulders. The fuzz felt pleasant on her skin, even as it grew damp. “Just shortly...”

“You look really cute bundled up like that, Professor!” Raphael announced cheerfully. “We should go camping sometime so you have an excuse to bury us all in blankets.”

_C-Cute? _Byleth thought, bewildered and feeling her face grow hot again. No one had ever...Goddess, what were these sensations, these feelings? It was happening more and more and she didn't know what to do with any of it! _I'm so confused...ah... This is all your fault, Claude! Dimitri too! _She plotted how to get back at them as soon as possible, ignoring Sothis's musical chuckle at her internal ranting.

Mercifully, as Ingatz said, another ten-fifteen minutes of walking brought them to the foot of a massive stone tower, overgrown with disuse. It was an impressive structure, towering above both them and the trees; vines wound up to the very top windows, bright orange light gleaming from the upper floors signaling that their quarry was finally within reach. There was no general cheer of relief this time; instead the students gathered around her, Claude and Gilbert, gazing warily at the tower's peak. Despite the fact that the old fortress had only one entrance, no one wanted to tip off their prey – the more disorganized and panicky the thieves were, the better.

“Hey Teach,” Claude said, craning his neck as he looked up. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?” She asked wryly, handing off the blanket she'd been loaned and putting her hand on the Sword of the Creator. The hilt pulsed under her fingers, warm and intense, almost like a heartbeat...

He grinned, the lack of humor in the gesture making it unnervingly chilly. “I'm always ready.”

Ingrid quickly patted down her pegasus, rubbing its wings with a towel and letting it flap them several times in relief. “Sir Gilbert, have you ever been here before?” She asked. “I know Conand Tower hasn't seen use in many years, but if there's anything in the architecture that might have changed...”

“I have scouted it once, but that was many years ago,” The venerable old knight responded. Sir Gilbert was a stout man, shorter than Byleth and nearly equal height with the still-growing Claude. He bore the scars of many battles on his face, and likely throughout his body – though one wouldn't be able to tell, given the amount of armor he was wearing. Fortress Knight...that's what such men were called. Those who had the strength to move and fight while encased in the heaviest protection one could afford, armor that even the strongest opponent could not pierce without magic or the rare specialized weapons such as the famous Rapier. He wielded a steel ax, forged and well-used; many battles were edged into the chips in the blade. “I'm afraid I have not much to tell you but old history. Back in the day, when invasions from the north were at their height, this tower was used for both surveillance and defense. Fortunately, I doubt the bandits will be able to properly make use of the tower's structure; we should be able to make our way up without too much trouble.”

“Mmm, is that right?” Claude said, humming lightly. “The leader of the thieves is the former first son of the Gautier family. He'll be a better strategist than the bandits we've tangled with before.”

“Miklan was...” Ingrid stopped, frowned, and slowly said, “Miklan wasn't extensively educated in the act of war. He's only a few years older than Sylvain, and even back then he was...temperamental. He got worse with age, until, well...ah, it's not my place.” She shook her head. “He'll be tougher than your average bandit, but he's no genius. Nothing we can't overcome.”

“Is that right...” Claude mused. Byleth wondered if there was a thread of...disapproval...under his clear and obvious distaste for Miklan's apparent personality flaws. “How about the Lance? Do you suppose he stashed it somewhere, or would he have kept it within his sight at all times?”

“Miklan has it in his possession,” Sir Gilbert replied gravely. “According to the last report, he used it to turn the tables on his pursuers.”

A wave of shocked mumbling washed over Byleth's students.

“So the Crestless can use the weapons after all?” Claude said, half to himself. “Isn't that interesting...” He sighed. “Man, the rain's really coming down...let's get this over with, shall we?”

Byleth nodded and drew the Sword of the Creator. The blade was warm in her hands...and was it steadily getting hotter? Something in her chest was pulsing...a comforting warmth, a powerful one, a feeling that _sang _through her blood. “Get ready, everyone,” she ordered, before walking up to the old wooden door and giving it a solid kick.

It busted under her heel, sprawling aside on a single hinge as she strode in. The doorway was just wide enough to accommodate Leonie's horse, which trotted in on her heels, the rain-soaked orange-haired girl grinning wryly before she adjusted the saddle and climbed aboard. After her came Ingrid, her pegasus whinnying unhappily at having been brought in under a roof. Claude lead the rest of the students in, Felix at his heels, everyone drawing their weapons and grimly preparing themselves. There were lit torches throughout the hallways, new hooks and posts sitting within the entrance hall. Very distantly, Byleth could hear heavy thumps amid the pitter-patter of the rain and the rumble of distant thunder.

Conand Tower was a fairly unique by the standards of usual construction for fortresses in that there were no stairs inside; sloped floors were the sole means of ascension, allowing horses, pegasai and wyverns limited mobility within the building. While one might think this a poor choice with enemy mounted units in mind, it had actually worked in the tower's defense many times. Few people expected, once they kicked down the door of an enemy castle, to be greeted by charging mounted units – among other things.

“Unique is the right word,” Claude mused as they sprinted across the first sloped floor, Leonie's horse making a loud noise of complaint but otherwise easily following its rider's command. The setting sun cast light on the floor like glowing orange blades; between that and the torches, it was a disturbingly yet oddly pretty look. “I've never seen a fortress like this before.”

“It's an old Kingdom design,” Byleth said as she ran, “I think parts of the Silver Maiden use this style as well.”

“Huh. I'll keep that in mind for the next 'diplomatic' venture.”

They climbed four floors before they encountered the first of their opponents. Three bandits were lounging on an old couch, playing a card game on the table. “...anything worth stealing,” one of them complained, dropping a card in the pile and causing both his friends to groan.

“Ah, stuff it, at least we've got food and we got the boss's point across,” The other guy said. Byleth thought back to the last village they stayed in, saw the ransacked buildings and injured farmers in her minds' eye, and her resolve hardened.

The third frowned at his hand, looked up to complain, and turned deathly white. “Oh, shit,” He breathed.

“That's one way of putting it,” Claude replied cheerfully, causing both of the other thieves to spin around in shock. He promptly knocked an arrow and fired; his target scrambled to get up, but only succeeded in getting pinned to the wall by his shoulder. Byleth thrust her sword at the direction of one of the thieves. The gesture was odd and went against her muscle memory, but the blade split apart instantly, unfurling and slashing across the the man's lightly armored chest.

Mercifully, this time he wasn't split completely in half...but he did die with a gurgle that made her skin feel as though it were trying to crawl off her bones.

An arrow struck down the third one moments later. Leonie trotted around the corner, her horse snorting and stomping its hooves – likely glad to be back on even ground. Ingatz, Raphael and Felix followed along behind her, weapons drawn and at the ready. Claude pointed an arrow at the closed double doors on the other side of the table. There were footsteps and talking faintly audible from the other side. “Once we go through there, they'll organize against us. And that's assuming that they didn't seen us approaching.” Byleth said, forcing herself to focus. “Even if they seemed idle...it's not a good thing to assume.”

“Never assume anything going into a battle,” Leonie said, repeating her father almost word for word. She slung her bow over her shoulder and took up her lance. “I remember, Professor.”

Seeing the rest of her students, with Gilbert at the rear, joining them, Byleth nodded – almost to herself – before striding onward and kicking the door open.

The uppermost level of Conand Tower was gray and spacious, theoretically the last line of defense for any civilians brought inside. It had a high ceiling, an elevated platform and another rising floor. Torches provided some light against the storm and the fading daylight, but visibility was lower than they were used to. Fortunately, it wasn't so dark that their enemies were hard to see.

“Boss! We've got trouble!”

Lenoie and Ingrid charged forward, driving the group of thieves who'd come to check on the noise apart. Their lances flashed, cutting down one and incapacitating another with a wicked, bloody shoulder wound that would kill him if it wasn't quickly stemmed. To Byleth's surprise, one of the other thieves immediately abandoned his weapon and rushed to the injured man's side, tearing off his glove and using it as a pressure pad. _Honor among thieves...? _

Lysithea and Ingatz darted forward, quick as arrows, each attacking a brawler and a mage respectively. They died with screams, and the two students walked past the kneeling man and his bleeding friend without paying the latter any mind. Marianne hesitated by those thieves, and then carefully stepped toward them with Raphael at her side, a scowling guardian.

Byleth hesitated, then chose to place her trust in the two – the two men were disarmed, and Raphael would make further conflict look unattractive – before hurrying to join the thick of the fight.

Gilbert strode forward, booming, “Thieves, bandits, disturbers of the peace! The Knights of Serios are upon you! Throw down your weapons and pray for the Goddess's compassion and mercy!”

In response, two arrows whisked over the side, crashing uselessly against his armor and shield. “Ingrid, watch out for the snipers!” Byleth shouted, slamming her relic's hilt into an enemy's face, sending him spinning into a raised stone barrier. The wings of a pegasus were delicate; a single arrow could cripple one for life.

“I see them!” The rider called back, her mount rearing back to kick one of her would-be opponents in the face.

“Claude, Ignatz, take care of them! Leonie, don't get too far ahead! Felix, Lorenz, Hilda guard Lysithea and Marianne while going forward! Keep advancing! Mercedes, use your discretion!” Byleth threw herself forward, dodging a fireball and a thrown ax in quick succession. Rolling to her feet, she impaled the mage through the chest and lifted the body off the floor, letting it catch the second ax before shoving it off with her foot. Again she swung the blade in a wide arc, and it crackled apart at her unspoken will lashing out as a whip. The man stumbled, the massive wound the blade cut _burning _as though the scar had caught aflame, then collapsed.

Claude's loud, tortured curse caused her head to snap to the right; her stomach dropped violently when she saw an arrow lodged deeply in his shoulder – goddess, the _point _was sticking out of his leather. The brunette staggered back a step, then notched his bow and fired in retaliation. The twin arrows slammed into his would-be killer's eye socket and cheekbone; the corpse flopped across the railing and fell down to the ground.

Mercedes rushed up to his side, a flood of words Byleth wasn't quite close enough to parse filling the air as she steadied the Golden Deer house leader and grasped the arrow in one hand. A great golden glow lit up around her and quickly surrounded Claude's wounded shoulder. When Byleth blinked, she saw an elegant symbol float in the air; within that light, Mercedes smoothly and effortlessly pulled the arrow out without even a peep from her patient. Tossing it aside, the symbol flickered again, and the light vanished. Claude pawed at his shoulder, surprise radiating from him, before he bowed in thanks.

_A Crest with healing properties? Is she descended from Saint Cethleann? _Not that she had time to dwell on it. Very relieved that she'd asked for the older girl's help, Byleth threw herself at another mage that had designs on Felix.

Felix fought like a brawler even as he wielded a sword; he forwent guarding and any elegance in favor of quick, brutal strikes that tore bloody stripes out of his unfortunate opponents when he didn't straight-up ram the sword through his opponent's throat. It was a vicious and dominating style, but it left him utterly vulnerable – something of particular note, seeing his muscular but slender constitution. There was no way he could take much damage before being rendered unable to fight.

“Lysithea, mind Felix for me!” She vaguely heard a complaint from the blue-haired warrior, but she ignored it. “Ignatz, be careful!” Ignatz narrowly dodged taking an arrow from the sniper he'd been annoying, firing back again as he ran forward. “Lorenz, what's going on up there?”

The noble glanced back; he'd reached the far corner of the raised platform alongside Leonie who was disposing of a bandit. “There are more enemies on the other side, and they're preparing to meet us on their terms. What should we do, Professor?” He threw a fireball at a man who'd gotten past Leonie, causing him to stagger before stabbing him in the gut.

“We'll group up and decide on a strategy,” Byleth called. “Wait there!”

Ingrid brought her pegasus up in the air, flying in circles about the ceiling. “Miklan is here, he's waiting at the back of the platform. He has the Lance – ah!” Her mount jerked to the right, avoiding one arrow and then another. Quickly she dove, dipping up near the upper level and impaling another man. The momentum dragged the corpse over the side and sent it tumbling across the floor as Ingrid came in for a landing.

“Are you alright?” Byleth asked, skidding to a halt next to her.

“Fine,” Ingrid panted, her face a little green at the edges. “There were more archers than I anticipated; at least two more on the far side. Though, there are a lot of bandits here...more than was recorded in the last report.” She frowned. “How did Miklan sway so many thugs and lowlifes to follow his lead? He's an egotistical, violent ass and he doesn't-”

“Rant about him later. Is your pegasus alright?”

“Y-yeah, she was just spooked. Sorry, Professor.”

Byleth glanced over her shoulder. Gilbert gave her a nod; with the weight of his armor, he couldn't move as quickly as the rest of them; her students had left him the dust as they started to push forward. He wasn't idle, however, taking care of stragglers who had recovered after being assumed unconscious or feigning defeat. Marianne and Raphael were hurrying to catch up with the others; Byleth and Ingrid moved to do the same.

With all her students accounted for, Byleth lead them around the corner and scowled at the bare, empty corridor between them and their quarry, all of whim were hidden around a blind corner. “That's bait,” She muttered, striding forward a few steps and putting a hand on her hip.

“Yyyup,” Claude agreed with a mild chuckle; one once again lacking in any humor. “How shall we do this, Teach?”

“We have to draw them out of there a few at a time,” Byleth said, thinking furiously. “Otherwise whoever goes around the corner will either get sniped or cornered and slaughtered by the massed enemies.” She sighed. “If we had someone with knew Rescue, there's a plan I've used before, but unfortunately that's not an option...”

“Eh, we're not completely without recourse.” Claude said thoughtfully. “It's my experience that bandits take themselves too seriously.”

Byleth opened her mouth to ask what he was on about, then it hit her. “Kostas,” She murmured, then gave him a bemused smile. “Alright then. We'll try that.”

The only warning was the sound of something hitting the floor.

Lysithea's scream a piercing, heartrending sound that would haunt her nightmares for the foreseeable future, along with the sight that greeted Byleth when she spun around in alarm. The wall she'd thought had been solid actually held a concealed pathway; one that a few of the thieves had been hiding in. While the class gathered, believing they had cleared the hallway, the twosome had waited for a moment, then pushed down the door and attacked. Mercedes had gotten away with a gory, rapidly bleeding slash on the arm...

...But Lysithea...the small girl who jumped when ghosts were mentioned, who had snuck a piece of cake into a lecture, who went on amusing tangents whenever she felt someone was treating her like a child...had been impaled from behind, straight through her chest.

Byleth's throat tightened. She let out a wordless, strangled sound. A horrible, overwhelming _feeling, _as if she was about to pass out, crashed over her, rendering her entire body useless, frozen to the spot. Screams erupted from all of the girl's fellow classmates. _Byleth! Remember my gift to you! _Sothis shouted in her ear as an enraged Felix turned on the killer and began dicing him to pieces.

_G-Gift? _

_Time! The hands of time are yours! Quickly!_

_Ah!_

Byleth reached inside herself, into her magic, and the world just _stopped. _An inky blankness, broken up only by a glittering golden-red pentagram with the Crest of Flames blazing in its core, appeared before her. The young Ashen Demon stared blankly at it for a few seconds, her blood racing furiously and her head spinning – aching, as though it had been stuffed with cotton. Hesitantly she reached out and touched the image; a flickering, faded out image of the moment came to life before her.

_That's right, _Sothis said, her voice soothing yet urgent. _Turn it back. You need not go far, just a minute or two. Give yourself enough time to lead her away and prepare! _

Carefully, Byleth dragged her fingers long the edge of the circle. Like a painting in reverse, the image before her _backtracked_; she saw the images of herself and her students walk backwards to the corner, the men retreat and walk back into what she could now see clearly as a hidden alcove and passageway. The door that had hidden them flew backwards, concealing them; it had been painted gray with stones taped and glued to it to enhance the illusion that it was part of the wall. Had it been proper daylight, she wouldn't have been fooled, but the dim light of the storm had caused her eyes to slide over it.

Byleth pressed her hand against the images; she was seized by a great surge of vertigo, and suddenly she found herself back in her body, back in the moment.

“-looks kinda like bait, Teach. Teach?”

Byleth spun on her heels; she couldn't begin to explain even if she tried, and every second counted. Her eyes found the wall. “Sir Gilbert?” She snapped out as the man started to turn the corner. “Can you hear something?”

He stopped instantly, raising his ax and looking back down the hallway. “I don't think so. What is it, Professor?”

“I hear footsteps somewhere behind us. Which might well mean – Lysithea, Felix, Mercedes, get over here now!”

Lysithea blinked, then grabbed a confused and scowling Felix's arm and dragged him forward. Mercedes took a few uncertain steps, looking over her shoulder; because of that, she had a good view of the fake wall falling down and the two bandits surging forward toward her. This time, however, they were prepared – Gilbert surged forward, slamming the side of his ax into one of the men, knocking him down. The second was even less lucky; Claude, Ignatz and Leonie's combined efforts almost instantaneously turned him into a human pincushion. Felix, once he'd gotten over his surprised, instantly snapped into motion – stabbing the fallen man in the throat.

Byleth stared into the wall; no other dangers emerged from it. The corpses on the ground didn't move, not even twitch. The sword that would have killed her student lay harmlessly on the floor where it had fallen.

Lysithea sucked in a sharp breath, and let it out slowly. “That could have been bad,” She said, blissfully oblivious.

The words felt like a hammer on Byleth's chest. She took a deep breath of her own, clutching the hilt of the relic so tightly it hurt. “Gilbert, please watch the rear; Lorenz will help you,” She ordered. She _hated _the way her voice shook a bit on the words. “Everyone, be on your guard. There might be another ambush in the wings.”

Both Claude and Ingrid gave her odd looks; she didn't pay it much mind though, turning around. “The other end of the hall...we need to draw the thieves out a few at a time, or get ambushed. Any ideas, Claude?”

“Hm...” He gave her a pointed look, then lightly said, “I've got an idea...”

Byleth swallowed slightly as she followed him to the other end of the hall, as he leaned seemingly lazily against the wall and started talking – throwing his voice, really, in a mock-casual way designed to be overheard. It had worked against Kostas; that man hadn't managed to lay a hand on her friend. But if he was charged in a rage by several people...

Marianne lightly touched her wrist. Byleth blinked and found herself looking into the bluenette's concerned eyes. “I'm alright,” she murmured. “Don't worry about me.”

“Head's up, Teach.” Claude said lazily, before casually pushing himself off the wall with one foot and slinging his bow over the head of the short woman who hurtled around the corner, spitting some particularly foul obscenities directed at his lineage and preferences. “Yeesh, everyone's a critic.” He yanked back hard, letting the tight string dig a vicious line into her throat and yank her off her feet; as she stumbled, he pulled an arrow out and stabbed her through the eye.

A flare of blue light caught Byleth's eye. Felix moved in a flicker of blue light; a glow surrounded his sword as he brought it down on an armor knight who'd joined his ill-fated companion. Instead of bouncing off ineffectually, the iron blade cleaved straight through the plate as through it were a Rapier; she saw the flicker of a symbol in the blink of an eye, then again when his follow up swing split the helmet and the head it protected apart in one move. _That's right. The Crest of Fraldarius allows the bearer to pierce through all defenses when the will is strong enough..._

Their ambush thrown off, the thieves quickly gave up further turtling and charged forward. There was a crash behind her; Byleth risked a quick look over her shoulder and saw Gilbert and Lorenz handling the other two enemies who had emerged from the secret passageway. Then she threw herself into the fight.

She thrashed the sword out into its whip form, wrapping it around the arm of the other armor knight. Something inside her – a sensation she now recognized as her own crest – burned as an arrow tore a wound open on her arm; a flare of energy lit up the room as she tore the blade back, ripping the arm off – armor and all. A rush of adrenaline went through her; she felt the sting of that arm wound lessen and then vanish completely. The blade retracted, allowing her to clash and blade lock with another thief and self-styled brigand. Pushing him back was easy; she stabbed him through the shoulder, then pulled the blade free and launched it, whip form, the archer who was still taking shots at her. It snared his bow and destroyed it.

Ingrid promptly swooped down and impaled him with her lance. Raphael dove past Byleth, who nursed her numb arm as she walked forward, and slammed his gauntleted fist into a thief's face – knocking him back. Ignatz followed that up with a fatal arrow shot. Leonie shot past both of them, her horse bowling over another thief and clearing the way down the hall. Claude shot down the last archer, who had been distracted taking aim at Ingrid, while Lysithea blasted one enemy with Miasma and an opposing mage with Luna. Marianne blasted the final thief with a dazzling Thoron before turning to Byeth and casting Physic. The effect was soothing and immediate; she waved in gratitude and ran onward, hearing Mercedes and Lysithea terrify an armored knight so badly he surrendered without even trying to attack them.

Ingrid brought her pegasus down by her side, while Claude trotted up on her left. “Some of these men are former farmers and tradesmen,” The blonde said, looking troubled. “Professor...let's hurry and take out Miklan. I bet that without him, the rest will scatter or surrender.”

Byleth nodded in comprehension. The three of them turned the corner – Leonie shot a few arrows at the men who'd been blocking the way, forcing them to make room. Byleth felt a heat stirring within the sword of the creator; that drumming pulse was growing faster and hotter, like frantically beating heart. They ran up the light incline and found themselves facing a tall, armored redhead a few arms-lengths away.

Miklan Gautier had wild, blood red hair and a handsome face (irregardless of the massive scar across his nose and cheek), but that was where his similarities to Sylvain ended. He wore heavy armor not wholly unlike Gilbert's, and his lips were curved into a thunderous, hateful scowl. He carried himself like an angry drunk; bullheaded, aggressive, spoiling for a fight. Clutched in his right hand...was what could only be the Lance of Ruin.

The first thing Byleth thought upon seeing the sacred relic of the Gautier family was that she thought she saw the barbs on it twitching; her nerves were clearly still shot to be seeing such things. The lance glowed with a light that seemed eerie against the torches and the flashes of lightning through the window; like, and yet unlike the sword she now clutched in her hand...

“I know that face...” Miklan muttered, glaring at Ingrid. “So, the marriage bait is still playing at being a knight, huh? There's a laugh.”

Marriage bait. That was the second time she'd heard that phrase thrown around recently...

“What do you know?,” Ingrid retorted angrily, gripping the lance. “The childhood bully has grown up into a bigger menace! You were always a self-centered, selfish man, Miklan, but this has gone too far!”

Miklan sneered. “All I've done is take back my birthright! _I _was father's first born child! But just because that lazy, good-for-nothing layabout had a damned Crest, he was handed everything without a care. Never mind that he'll run all into the ground while he chases after any girl that'll sit still long enough!”

“At least Sylvain has never tried to murder family!” Ingrid shot back. “Whatever his faults, he was never so childish as to endanger the lands he believed belonged to him to avenge a slight!”

“You don't get to mouth off to me, Ingrid! Not while you're still deluding yourself. Do you really think your _venerable _father is going to let you, a noble girl with a Crest, but _anything _other than some rich old man's bedwarmer?”

“Ah yes,” Claude said dryly. “However could Lord Gautier have disowned a man with such a charming personality as you?”

“Shut up!” Miklan snapped.

“After all, you've showed the ability to solve your problems with...murder, theft, and more murder, so clearly you're qualified to balance books, oversee harvests, and negotiate for trade goods. You have such a personable aura, there's no way you would alienate any and every potential ally after spending a few hours with them. Your ability to steal the Lance also proves that you absolutely have a good mind for consequences beyond a couple of days time. I just can't imagine why he thought Sylvain would make a better Lord.” Claude shrugged and glanced at her. “What do you think, Teach?”

“Shut! UP!” Miklan charged forward, lance at the ready.

“Geez; some people just can't take a joke,” Claude said with an exaggerated sigh; Byleth rolled her eyes and threw herself forward to meet the armored thief. She didn't want Ingrid or Claude getting with range of the lance, even if Miklan didn't have the Crest necessary to bring out its full power.

The Lance crashed against the Sword; a horrible sense of _wrong _prickled at the back of her mind, but she shoved it aside, pushing the weapons to the side and jumping back to avoid a retaliatory swing. Miklan's fighting style was aggressive and untrained; his father must have given him only a basic weapons education after Sylvain was born. Byleth dodged past another strike and ducked, allowing Ingrid to throw a javelin at Miklan's head. The man jerked backward, and Claude followed that up with a couple of arrows. Most of them bounced off the armor, but one of them jammed in the plating near his shoulder.

Miklan growled, swinging the lance at her face. Byleth jumped back nimbly; if he had any hope of outspeeding her, the armor destroyed it. As she lead him in a circle, she knew without a doubt that she could dance hoops around him without worrying. What they needed, however, was to somehow get him to drop the Lance. She didn't have much hope of capturing or otherwise subduing him as long as he held it.

“Pest!” Their enemy shouted as Ingrid's pegasus darted overhead, its hooves narrowly missing his head. “Coward!” Byleth snorted and launched the sword at him; she debated switching to her bow for a moment, try and shoot out his eyes, but discarded it – she needed an answer to the Lance.

Claude shot at him again, making sure to keep Byleth between himself and the homicidal disowned son. Miklan cursed and swore, but they were quickly wearing him down...

Had Rhea said anything about whether his surrender was desired above his death, or at all? Byleth didn't remember anything of the sort, though after what happened with Lonato...well, she wanted to bear it mind, even as she became fully convinced that Sylvain's brother would never willingly come quietly.

They clashed again, and then Miklan jumped back. The Lance in his hand pulsed violently, and again, something felt wrong. Intensely wrong. Byleth chalked it up to worry about her students, who were making enough noise to comfort her that Gilbert was keeping them safe and organized, but it persisted nonetheless...

“Not bad for your kind,” Miklan sneered, “a bunch of spoiled rotten children.”

The lance pulsed again.

Byleth heard Sothis murmur, _Can you feel that? _

That's when it happened.

* * *

A number of his gang rushed up the platform, her students hot on their heels. Just as they arrived, the lance flared with light one final time, and this time, Miklan flinched.

“Huh?” He muttered, looking down at his hand. A sphere/gem/stone within the lance...a visible, carved 'heart' within the weapon, something the Lance had in common with Thunderbrand...began to glow, then blaze with light, and tendrils of thick black liquid oozed out. It spread through the air like a living shadow, wrapping around Miklan's arm and completely engulfing it.“W-What? What the hell?” The redhead gasped, clawing at the black..ink...shadow...on his arm, but the gesture was meaningless. It merely swept onward, the blackness splashing across his chest, down his legs, and up his shoulders toward his neck. Miklan started to scream and thrash, trying to let go of the lance, trying to shake it off, then finally just screamed and screamed as the ink climbed up over his mouth and into his eyes...

“What the hell?” Claude whispered, barely audible right behind her.

“Goddess,” Gilbert gasped, clanking up next to her.

Byleth merely watched in mute shock and growing alarm as the shadow that was once Miklan _grew _before her eyes; it stretched, twisted, ballooned until it was twice its original size – no, three times its original size! She heard the bandits babbling a few feet behind her, a few of them breaking rank and fleeing. One of them collapsed to his knees on her right, watching as the shadows suddenly burst apart, bit by bit...

...But what was revealed to them was not a man. Men did not have massive, stony legs with claws on the tips of their toes. Men did not have a long, spiked tail that thrashed with enough strength to shatter stone and crack the floor of a reinforced building. Men did not have giant, stonelike spines protruding from a back large enough that several people and a horse could comfortably stand upon its length if it lay completely flat upon the floor. Men...men did not have two sets of jagged teeth the length of Byleth's arm, nor did they have blood red eyes, or a screech that shook the earth.

But Miklan was not a man anymore. What stood in his place was a massive reptilian Demonic Beast.

When the last of the shadows broke away, the creature wasted no time moving. One clawed hand lunged forward, snatching the bandit from where he'd fallen on the ground and bringing it up to jaw level. The poor man hardly had time to scream before that massive jaw came down upon his waist, severing his body in half with a sickening _crunch._

The beast didn't even wait to enjoy its meal. It tossed the bloody legs aside and grabbed a handful of stone torn from the broken pillar.

“Everyone get onto the platform!” Byleth shouted, smacking Ingrid's terrified pegasus on the flank. Training kicked in and it took to the air, allowing her and Claude to run to the side, the stone splintering with a thundering _crash _on the place where they had been standing.

“What is that?!” Mercedes cried, horrified.

“A demonic beast? Here?! How's that possible?!” Leonie shouted, her face draining of blood. “Isn't that – isn't that Miklan?!”

“Go, go, GO!” Byleth screamed at her, grabbing Lysthiea from where she'd fallen thanks to the shaking floor and hauling her to her feet. “If we want to survive this, we have to flank it! Don't let it drive us into the hallway but for the love of the goddess _everyone keep moving! Don't let it hone in on you!_”

The beast screeched and lashed out with its tail. Ingrid narrowly flew to the right; the impact smashed a giant gouge in the raised platform, narrowly missing Felix, one of the first students to snap out of the horrified shock that had taken hold of them. The beast turned, its eyes panning over Marianne and Ignatz; Byleth chose to attack then, lashing out with the sword and scoring a small hit on its arm.

“Loud noises will distract it!” She heard Sir Gilbert cry as the beast swiped at her. She jumped back, but the impact caught her in the shock wave, throwing her to the ground. Her teeth rattled on the landing; her stomach ached. “-need to break the magic around it! That will weaken its defenses!”

That sounded right; her father had fought beasts before, and maybe she'd only done it once or twice-

Gilbert's death scream cut her thoughts off. Byleth shoved herself to her feet and saw the beasts claws come down on him, pounding him down into the ground – pulping him within his armor like a toy in the hands of a careless toddler.

Gasping, she closed her eyes and froze time. Standing there in that dark void, her breath coming out in rapid bursts, she desperately tried to remember what tactics her father had spoken of using against these creatures before. Loud noises, concentrated attacks on certain body parts...fire? Ice? No, there was a certain kind of magic he championed – holy magic! Loud noises drew the eye, and if they could break through the magic barrier, they'd be able to win.

_Do not panic! _Sothis said urgently. _I am with you, and my power is yours. You will prevail as long as you don't loose your wits!_

She let out a breath, nodded, and turned the clock back to just as she prepared to attack – draw its eyes away from her students. Then she released time, coming back to herself; she launched the blade again, but this time she gave it a flourish that drove the tip of the blade in deeper than before. As the beast swung towards her and raised its hand, she let her momentum and the tip of the blade throw her several feet across the floor, landing on her shoulder (tearing the tip of the blade free) as the claw came down just short of where she'd been standing.

Gilbert started giving the orders again, while Byleth shouted for both Lysithea (at her right) and Claude (now separated from her by the Beast) to attack at once. The beast roared in annoyance as first the arrows, then the magic prickled at its armor-eqsue hide; its head turned between them once before turning and hurtling a hunk of rock at Claude.

Leonie, having picked up Ingrid's javelin, took the chance and threw it at the creature's exposed neck. It bounced off, but the creature staggered a bit and Claude let out a yell, indicating his continued survival. Felix darted forward, his crest flaring to life again as he swung his sword -

-Byleth's shout to take cover came too late, the tail lashed out and struck him into the stomach, sending him flying off the platform and into the wall with a sickening _crunch_-

-She froze time again, turned it back a few precious seconds, then lunged forward. Just as Felix carved a deep, bloody wound into the Beast's leg, she tackled him and forced him down. The tail whipped harmlessly over their heads, their enemy screeching in anger over their first meaningful hit on it. Byleth rolled over, picked up her sword and yanked Felix to his feet; he might have thanked her, it was hard to tell over the pandemonium, but she rushed forward again with naught but a small nod of acknowledgment-

“Lysithea! Remember your Faith!” She bellowed, ramming her sword into the Creature's front leg and praying she'd understand the short sentence. Gratifyingly, the relic did penetrate, though as she tore it free it brought the injured limb up, throwing her back. There was great spike of _pain _at the back of her head and her vision momentarily went gray.

Shouts and yells echoed through the building, but she couldn't hear the words until a golden light filled her image. “-got you, professor,” Mercedes panted as her Crest washed away the concussion Byleth had just gotten, leaving her no worse for wear. Raphael yelled, 'Incoming!' and grabbed Mercedes around the waist; the Ashen Demon threw herself sideways and rolled onto her knees, dodging the chunk of rock that almost certainly would have killed them both.

However, Lysithea did not waste the opportunity. A bright white flare filled her hands, and she threw the glowing sphere at the Beast while it was preoccupied. The result was everything Byleth could hope for – a big, gaping black burning hole in the creature's hide, right in the middle of its chest. Felix shot across the floor, picked her up bridal-style and carried out of the way of its retaliation.

Smiling in relief, Byleth spotted Claude on the other side and waved at him. “Keep it distracted from Lysithea! Marianne, Mercedes, help her as much as you can!” Claude nodded...and then proceeded to make her grateful that her heart had never given her trouble.

He jumped over its tail and then grabbed onto its spiny hide, climbing up its back as though it were a particularly large and angry wyvern. The Beast thrashed, twisting his head from side to side as it tried to get a look at the annoyance that immediately drew his new sword and repeatedly stabbed at whatever crack and crevice he could find in its armor.

“...Ingrid!” Byleth choked out after a few seconds of wrestling with her uncooperative vocal cords. Lysithea was winding up another spell, while Leonie was leading her horse in a circle before the creature, trying to add to its confusion. “Get ready to catch Claude!”

“I'm on it!” The blonde veered hard to the right, dodging past the Beast's tail and lowering her hand. Claude dug the sword into a particularly sore spot – the Creature bucked angrily, and for a second Byleth was horribly certain he was going to be thrown off – then reached up and grabbed her arm moments before Lysithea threw another holy spell at the monstrosity.

_Use the sword, _Sothis said while Marianne frantically healed the wounds Gilbert had sustained blocking the creature's leg to protect Ignatz. Felix grabbed Lysithea, gave her to Leonie who sped on past another attack, then grabbed his sword and ran forward. _Use it's full power!_

_I am! _She protested, preparing to unfurl the blade as Ingrid flew low and dropped Claude off on the ground.

_Not quite! There is something you can do to burn through its armor! It is in your crest and within this sword! Know what you desire and channel it through the blade; the answer will present itself!_

-the tail crashed into Raphael, sending him sprawling backwards; Mercedes went to help him, Marianne threw a Thoron at the Beast to ensure she could reach him and work her magic, however now the blue haired girl was in danger-

-And just as Sothis said, the answer came to her. Her Crest flared, burned with a power she'd never pulled from it before, and she swung the sword upward with a scream that could only contain pure, honest rage.

The effect was instantaneous and dizzying. The magical armor cracked and shattered with a loud shriek, and her blade dug a long, _boiling _scar across its hide until it struck the base of the Beast's front leg, cut clean through it like a hot knife through butter and left the limb crashing to the ground. A loud cheer went up from her students, intermixed with the creature's scream; and then her students, _her brave, brilliant students,_ took advantage of the Beast's shock and staggering to unleash absolute hell.

Felix was at the front, darting between its remaining legs and slashing at the soft underbelly, his sword blazing with the power of his crest. Marianne threw one Thoron after another, then changed to Blizzard when Ingatz and Leonie stared firing arrows at the beast's head, hoping to knock out at least one of its eyes. Lornez threw a fire spell and then, grabbing his lance and aiming thoughtfully, threw it at the Beast's back leg, serving _something _that caused it to shriek in pain as it regained its senses.

Ingrid, having retrieved her javelin, flew up and around its thrashing tail to throw the weapon at the throat. Instead of bouncing off, it sank in. Gilbert got in front of Lysithea and Ignatz, causing another thrown rock to crash harmlessly against his shield. The white haired girl took this chance to throw another holy spell – Seraphim, it was Seraphim, goddess she learned so fast it was _incredible –_ burning through a massive chunk of the creature's other forelimb.

They were winning, they were winning, they had this -

Claude darted around and raised his bow. He grinned, and she saw a slight golden flare in the shape of the moon before his arrow flew – jamming right into the creature's eye. He grinned and moved, running past Marianne and around toward her -

Except she could see it's tail coming up, a dying creature's final spite, and she didn't need Sothis's power to know what it would do to him -

She was running, rushing forward and launched the sword one final time. It cut a clean swath through the tail, giving her a few precious seconds to reach Claude and throw him out of the way before the limb slammed into her.

The impact sent her spinning, her head hitting the floor, tumbling end over end until the momentum was spent and she came to a stop, sprawled on her side on the cold stone floor. Her vision was gray and her hearing incoherent; there was a massive _crash _that rattled the ground beneath her, and then nothing – the distinct noises plauging her ears fading away. There was a pause, a long pause in which she was only aware of her blood pumping, terrible pain, and the ringing in her ears...then a series of small thuds, like rain, only close...

She blinked. Something hazy interposed it self above her, a repeated series of sounds echoing in her ears. A warm light surrounded her, then another, two different auras working to the same end. Slowly, her pain went away, her head began to clear, and that dark, hazy figure slowly solidified into a pair of wide, worried emerald green eyes.

“-each...Teach,” Claude gasped out. There was a note of fear in his voice; those green eyes were worried and angry and guilty all at once, and for some reason the first thing that passed through Byleth's mind was how handsome honestly was on that face. “Can you hear me? Can you understand this?”

“...are you okay?” She whispered, tilting her head and trying to assess his well being.

Claude choked, and gave her a most incredulous look mixed with relief and a dozen other things that went by in a flash. “Am _I _okay?” He repeated, flabbergasted. “Teach, you're the one who just – why would you do something so stupidly heroic? What were you thinking?! That damn near split your skull open, _why-_”

“Are you okay?” Byleth repeated. She couldn't hear the beast. He looked dirty, his clothes were in tatters, but if he was hurt she couldn't tell from where she was lying.

“That's – you –” It was...decidedly odd, seeing Claude fumbling for words. His green eyes flashed, and he lifted her up with arm under her shoulders as he stared – trying to decide if he was angry at her or just bewildered. Her father had given her those looks before...but never like this. Byleth had never felt anything quite like what those eyes were stirring somewhere deep inside her. “I'm fine, Teach, but seriously, you were just-”

“Everyone...else...? Is everyone okay?”

“We're fine, Professor.” Mercedes said softly, kneeling and placing a hand on Byleth's forehead. “Everyone's alive. The beast...it's body is gone, but Miklan and the lance remain.”

“No one...touch it... Not if you don't...have a crest...” That was the reason for this. She knew it in her bones. That was why the Crestless 'could not unlock the power of the relics'.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Felix snapped, appearing somewhere over her right. “Never mind that right now, damn it. You're still hurt and Mercedes and Marianne's magic is weak after constant casting. Just – just lie there and don't bloody move. It's over, for now.”

“Good,” She said softly. “Good...”

Claude gazed down at her, anger and relief warring in his eyes. She regretted upsetting him so much, but she was too grateful he was unharmed to be particularly repentant. He was her charge and her _friend_. She would do it again if she had to.

A friend...yes...that must be why the honest emotion in his eyes was making her feel so warm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chuckle) I'd been looking forward to this. It was about time that something gave our classmates a challenge and Byleth is revealed to not be invincible. A good time for Feelings to start coming out in force, eh? 
> 
> The Black Beast gave me trouble the first time I played it, and that was on normal mode! It took me a little while to figure out how to break barriers and make the best out of gambit attacks, though after a while I got good at it. So, the terror, panic and franticness of the GD students reflects my original experience quite nicely!
> 
> Oh, and have more Crests. There a fun thing to play with; I'll show off what makes the Lamine Crest different from the Crest of Cethleann later down the line.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri gets to understand Byleth a bit better, and tackles a would-be rebellion in Duscur.

Byleth looked around the narrow hall of the restaurant, curiosity in her eyes. It was something that, once Dimitri noticed it, he couldn't stop noticing – watching for it. He almost felt like a stalker, watching her face and her eyes so frequently to catch those flickers of warmth, of softness. But he couldn't help himself.

“This is nice,” She remarked, turning back to him. “How did you find out about it?"

“Ashe was raving about it a few months back,” He responded with a grin. “I thought that if I was going to thank you properly, I should take you somewhere that had been highly recommended.”

The professor smiled faintly for a brief moment. “Ashe thought it was good? That's high praise, coming from the boy who started feeding _us _a few weeks back.” She tilted her head. “I thought he was looking more upbeat the last few days. Do you think he's feeling a bit more like himself?”

“Yes. Though I hesitate to say that he's shaken off his grief, his enthusiasm is trickling back in.” He offered her his hand, and when she took it when a bemused look, he lead her toward the bar. “Raphael was right; keeping him busy doing something he loved helped.”

Byleth nodded, taking a seat with a small wince.

“Are you still in pain, Professor?” Dimitri asked, worried, as he sat next to her.

She shook her head slightly. “No, I'm just a bit stiff. It's been a while since I've taken bad injuries in a fight that couldn't be healed right away. ...Thank you.”

Dimitri frowned, though his would-be questions were interrupted by a waiter approaching them. He smiled, took the offered menu and scanned through it, his mind only party on on the dishes available – it wasn't as if he'd notice much of a difference from one to another. This was a gift for Byleth, and hopefully a reprieve from her work. Especially in the wake of the last mission.

There had been nothing quite so unnerving as seeing Claude keeping Byleth steady with a hand on her arm as the Golden Deer, along with Ingrid, Mercedes and Felix, scrambled back into the monastery a few days ago. Felix was carrying the Lance of Ruin, holding it slightly away from him as if wary that it would spontaneously catch fire. Almost as soon as they were inside the entrance hall, Bishop Seteth and Professor Manuela had approached seemingly from nowhere; Manuela helping Byleth to the infirmary while Seteth lead the class off to speak to Rhea – over the group's initial protests and brief but obvious desire to stay at their professor's side. Dimitri went to visit Byleth, still reeling at the fact that the seemingly invincible mercenary had been sufficiently injured that she was still experiencing phantom pain despite Mercedes and Marianne's best work. While Manuela had initially allowed him to linger while she examined Byleth, she shushed him when he tried to ask what happened, saying that the Archbishop needed to speak to the professor before she disclosed anything. Dimitri was left floundering and disturbed, because even the aftermath of Lord Lonato's rebellion hadn't come with a gag order.

Attempting to speak to Sir Gustav...Sir Gilbert, had done nothing to enlighten him. The older man, still not quite acknowledging that he recognized the prince he'd trained throughout his childhood, only said that there were unexpected events that occurred at the tower. When Ingrid, Felix and Mercedes were released an hour later, they informed him that Lady Rhea had told them to keep what happened during the mission a secret. However, late in the evening Claude had tracked him down to the training grounds and filled him in on the whole story.

If the tale hadn't been what it was, Dimitri would have been flabbergasted by the brunette's audacity – immediately and flagrantly disobeying the Archbishop under her own roof. But the story told was more than enough to distract him from that.

The Lance transforming Miklan into a Demonic Beast. Byleth's brush with death while protecting Claude. The first thought in Dimitri's mind afterwards was incredible gratitude that she had refused to bring Sylvain along for the battle. The second was utter disbelief that the holy relics handed down by the Goddess could inflict such a horrific fate on a wielder – even one so unworthy.

_Claude's emerald green eyes flashed with challenge; frustration, unhappiness?, anger. “You don't believe me.”_

“_No, I do believe you,” He said honestly, even in the midst of his shock. As bizarre and horrific as the story was, it perfectly explained why Byleth had been so badly injured, and why Felix had been so visibly uneasy carrying the Lance.“It's just – hard to fathom... Some of the stories attached to Areadbhar are bleak, given their circumstances, but I've never read or heard anything even hinting at this...” _

_Claude put a hand in his pocket, that strangely defensive expression lingering rather than instantly disappearing behind his usual smile. “Well, given that Rhea made us all swear not to breathe a word about it, I can imagine why.” _

“Lady _Rhea,” Dimitri corrected him, frowning. “Really, Claude; I know you're frustrated, and worried about the Professor, but you need to address the Archbishop respectfully.” _

_Claude closed his eyes for a moment, head tilted up to the ceiling. “Right. Sorry.”_

_Had he ever seen Claude stressed out, aside from that awful altercation with that knight? He honestly couldn't recall.“...Pick a weapon, my friend,” Dimitri said, gesturing to the rack on the far wall. “I'd be happy to help you burn out some tension.”_

_The brunette jerked slightly and stared at him for a moment, surprise plain in his eyes. Then he let out a small chuckle and said, “Oh, if you were but a bit less stoic-serious...” Before the prince could ask what he meant by that, the brunette headed toward the weapons. “I think I'll use a sword this time. I wouldn't want you getting too familiar with my fighting style, after all.”_

“Dimitri?” Byleth's voice brought him back to the present. He gave her an apologetic smile and glanced down at the menu again. “Is something on your mind?”

“Ah, it's nothing.” He picked a Faerghus-style omelet, writing the name down under her choice of a soup and salad. “I just wish I had been there. Perhaps that's a bit silly.”

She shook her head, blue eyes sparkling warmly. “It's not silly at all; I'm grateful. I've fought Demonic Beasts before, but I'd never seen a human transform into one. I was terribly unprepared...” Her expression fell. “It was a narrow fight; it was as if everything I knew about killing one flew right out of my head. I'd never lots my wits in a fight before...” She glanced aside. “There were several moments where –“ She paused abruptly, then murmured, “Well...I was...rather afraid.”

A few months ago the admission would have greatly startled him; but now...now he knew her better than that. “I don't think anyone who ever went into battle was without fear. I certainly wasn't. After all...how can you fight for your life and the lives of others if you aren't afraid to die?”

Byleth's eyes flickered. “I'd...never thought of it that way. But then again, I'm not a normal human.”

“I don't think that's it at all,” Dimitri retorted earnestly. “You've never had to worry about the other members of Jeralt's Mercenaries, have you? I'm sure you've had to escort civilians at one point or another, but there's a difference between keeping someone out of a fight entirely and watching out for a friend on the battlefield.” _I know that better than anyone... _“Your father and the other mercenaries are all seasoned veterans. But we're different...we're less experienced, so you have to watch out for us more than you would otherwise. You feel responsible for us, both as our instructor and as a friend. ”

She blinked at him, startled. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly. “Ah...I hope that wasn't too forward of me. I know you're my superior, but you're such a caring and constant presence I often forget that.”

“I don't mind,” Byleth said blankly. “It's just,” she seemed to stumble over herself for a moment, “I was a little surprised, that's all.”

“By what?”

For a moment it looked like she wouldn't answer him. Then she said, “Being called a friend.” She fidgeted with her fork. “I've always been 'Jeralt's girl' to the other mercenaries. They like me well enough, but I'd hesitate to say any of them consider me a friend; it would be closer to say that I was the odd child they took turns looking after. There is also...my 'condition', for lack of a better word. When I met you, Claude and Edelgard...it was the first time I could remember when someone wasn't intimidated, disturbed or afraid of me.”

“...How terrible...” Dimitri looked down at his hands. “...to feel so alone in the world...” He shook his head. “You're a very strong person, Professor. I can't imagine I would survive, cut off from all forms of companionship.”

“To be honest I hadn't truly understood before.” Byleth's response startled him. When his eyes met her blue orbs, suddenly sharp and blazing blue like the midday sun upon the ocean, a hot bubbly sensation took hold in his stomach. “How could I? It's...it's like a blind person not grasping the concept of sight. I knew that people felt things – happiness and sadness and wonder and glee, all of it – but no matter how much I watched, listened and waited, I couldn't make sense of any of it. Feelings, emotions, they were all locked away in some dark prison deep within my mind...or perhaps my soul.”

She folded her hands on the table. “Yet being here – with Claude, with you, with everyone – it's as if suddenly my eyes are opening. And I can't quite see past the sunlight. It's – it's overwhelming.”

“I see,” Dimitri said, swallowing a bit and hoping he wasn't blushing under her stare. “W-Well...I know I can't truly understand what you're experiencing right now, but I hope that I can help.”

Byleth favored him with a small smile, leaning forward and looking at him with a softer, but still warm intent gaze. “You're so earnest and kind...sometimes I can't help but wonder if you stepped off the page of one of Ashe's knightly fables. It's almost hard to believe you're real. I have met vanishingly few men like you, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.”

The prince felt himself blush hotly; only the timely arrival of their food saved him from stammering like a schoolboy and embarrassing himself. As Sylvain was so often happy to remind him, he never knew what to do with himself when faced with a beautiful warrior; any intelligent thoughts he possessed immediately abandoned him. He hurriedly pretended to be immensely interested in his food, afraid she'd see straight through to his heart if he met those eyes a moment longer.

It wasn't surprising, really. The culture of Faerghus and his own feelings toward knighthood and marriage had strongly lead Dimitri to desire a partner who was compassionate, iron-willed, and capable of fighting multiple enemies at once. Had it not been Byleth's stoic-to-the-point-of-being-eerie demeanor back when they first met, he honestly thought he might have made her a clumsy offer of courtship immediately after she finished saving them from those bandits. Even now he felt himself drawn to her, like a moth to a flickering flame.

_If only I had but a fraction of Claude's confidence and wit, _he thought idly.

“How are those boys doing?” Byleth asked after a few minutes of companionable silence. “I'm sorry I slept through the last lesson you gave them.”

“Oh, don't apologize; your recovery is just as important. I was able to manage them, though they did tell me they were missing you.” Dimitri grinned, remembering the eldest orphan's clear and obvious mimicry of the professor's combat stance. “I'm grateful that you're continuing to help me teach them, Professor. I know how busy you are.”

She nodded, wearing another small smile. The gesture was so tentative, as if she wasn't sure she was moving her lips correctly. It was strangely endearing. “I enjoy sparring with you,” She said lightly. “There aren't many people strong enough to put me on my guard.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled. “I've studied the sword for some time now, but your skill with a blade and intuition in a fight is something else entirely.”

A thought floated up in his mind, one he'd dismissed a few times before – persistent, though less accusatory now. This time, he finally felt comfortable enough to speak it. “Speaking of which, there's...something else I was hoping to ask you.” Her curious gaze emboldened him. “Were you reconciled with the reality of battle in your first foray? With...with killing, that is.”

Byleth's lips parted with surprised. She seemed to start to say something, then abruptly think the better of it. She looked down at her hands, thinking furiously, before finally saying... “I thought I was. But the first time I killed a man... ...He was a bandit, turned to pillaging after many bad harvests. He thought I was one of the village children, and came up to scare me away with his ax. I...I'm not sure he would have gone through with hurting me, if that was all I was. But I killed him, and I...I remember thinking...that couldn't be all. It should...it should take more than the flick of a wrist to end a life, to destroy everything a person was. But there it was. A life bled out into the dirt in the blink of an eye; he was gone too quickly for remorse to save him.” Her fingers idled with her spoon, stirring the still-warm soup. “It troubled me so much, I asked my father if he had deserved to die. I'll never forget what he said.”

She looked at him with a sad, serious expression. “'Perhaps. There are many who died who deserved to live, as there are those who live who deserve to die. Can you give that to them? A person should never be too quick to dole out death in judgment.'” Turning the spoon over once more, she took another bite before saying, “Whenever I cut down an enemy, it's never a choice I make lightly. I subdue my opponents when I can, but in battle you will have to decide, again and again, what you're willing and able to live with. If I must kill in order to protect you and my students, I'll bear that burden. If there's another way, if risky, I would think it worth pursuing. The answer will likely never be easy...but you have to find one whenever you carry the sword.”

She ducked her head a bit, the gesture oddly shy. “Does that make any sense?”

Dimitri nodded. His throat felt dangerously tight; he took a hopefully unobtrusive calming breath and said, “I see.”

Byleth tilted her head a bit, one hand coming up to her cheek. “It's hard for you, isn't it?”

“Yes.” He had no qualms admitting that. “I do not carry that burden well. I doubt that will change, regardless of what comes.”

“...I would trust a king who abhors killing far more than one who doesn't,” Byleth said simply. “The moment men and women with power stop considering life sacred, terrible things are lying in wait for both their neighbors and their own people.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri murmured. “Of course, we cannot stand idly by and allow anyone to commit senseless acts of violence. But in dispensing what we believe to be justice, we extinguish the lives of beloved friends and family...” His hands tightened. “As a king, I must be willing to do anything for my people, even kill. But still...there are times when I'm chilled by the viciousness I'm capable of.” _More than you could possibly know. _

Byleth's eyes softened. “I understand. Sometimes...sometimes I'm afraid of myself as well.”

The admission made his heart jump, feelings of compassion and joy and relief and affection all tangling up in each other as they fought for control of his tongue. “That you feel the same is more comforting than you could know.”

Her pale, slender hand slid over his and squeezed gently. Her skin was cool in spite of the heat within the restaurant. Sometimes when Dimitri glanced over at the Deer's table, he could see Hilda holding Marianne's hand this way while she rambled on about this thing or another. “I'm glad.” The professor's voice was a little shy, but serious as ever.

Dimitri smiled a little helplessly, and not for the first time was beset by a streak of jealousy toward Claude. _If only I had known how best to win you over back then, _he thought ruefully. _If you were my professor..._

“This soup is really good,” Byleth remarked softly, taking another drink. “I think I'll ask Ashe how he found this place.”

“He goes into town often,” Dimitri recalled with a fond smile. “I'm fairly certain all the shopkeepers recognize him at this point. I do believe Miss Anna ran away the last time we went to get our weapons repaired at the forge.”

Byleth choked on her drink and coughed a few times. “Someone _ran away _from _Ashe_?” She repeated blankly. “Someone _ran away _from _Ashe_. Our Ashe.”

Dimitri couldn't help but laugh. “It's a strange mental image, isn't it? Apparently his bartering skills are such that he convinced her to part with goods at half the price she usually sticks to. She's been wary of him ever since!”

The professor burst into a small giggle fit, shaking her head. It was such a restrained sound; Dimitri wished she was comfortable within her skin, that she could laugh without a care. Even with the grief he borne since the tragedy weighing heavily on his mind, he couldn't imagine being cut off from everything that reminded him he was alive.

With their troubles put to rest for now, the rest of the meal passed with comfortable small talk. Byleth asked him questions about the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, having overheard Caspar and Hubert talking about it. Dimitri tried to explain, but accidentally derailed it into a history lesson about the King of Lions and Faerghus's war for independence against the empire. She seemed fascinated by the stories, however, which was a little embarrassing in how pleased it made him. _She's a professor, _he scolded himself when he felt himself blushing at her curiosity. _If you're not careful, you could land her in serious trouble! _There were mutters here and there that Byleth was unprofessionally close to the Deer as it was.

He did pay for the meal over Byleth's protests, however.

“It's getting cooler,” Byleth murmured when they left the restaurant. A glorious sunset was painting the sky red and gold, with only a few clouds blocking a view worthy of a painting. “Or perhaps I just got used to the oven.”

“No, I think you're right.” Dimitri said, adjusting his sweater. “Winter creeps closer by the day.”

Byleth hummed in agreement, looking up at the sky as they began to head back to the monastery. The cats in the courtyard market seemed to migrate toward her feet as one when they approached the stairs; Byleth let out a rueful sigh and began digging through her pack for food, indicating that he could go on ahead as she knelt in this circle of feline admirers. The sight was so odd and adorable – the Ashen Demon, tenderly feeding and playing with cats – that he couldn't help but look back a few times as he made his way up to the door.

A flash of purple caught the corner of his eye as he pushed the doors to the monastery open. Curious, Dimitri turned around to see Bernadetta Varley shuffling along the wall. He so rarely saw the purple-haired girl outside of her room that his first instinct was that something must be wrong, so he stood in the doorway and listened like an eavesdropping child.

“Oh, Bernadetta. Is something the matter?”

“Professor! Oh, it's...um...your class...that is...” There was a pause, and audible gulp, and then - “canIjoinyourclass?!”

“W-What?”

“C-Can I join your class?” The poor girl sounded like she was on the verge of passing out from sheer anxiety. “Please?”

“I...that's...sure.” Had he _ever _heard Byleth sound so confused? “I'm not sure how to proceed, but...yes. Certainly.”

“Yes!” Bernadetta gasped, clasping her hands together. “Thank you so much! This will be so much better.” A sound like the shuffling of feet. “I don't know why, but I feel so much more comfortable around you.”

“Your Highness?” Dimitri jumped and turned to face the post man, sheepish that he'd been caught. The man shook his head and gave the prince a letter...one that bore a noble's seal; one that he'd seen recently, as a matter of fact. The pleasant feelings of the afternoon fled, replaced with grim wariness. “This arrived for you from western Faerghus.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri said quietly. He headed off toward the noble's dorms in the name of reading it in private, though he had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the contents.

If it was what he thought, he would need a plan.

* * *

“I see,” Lady Rhea's expression was grave. “To think such a small and hopeless rebellion would be met with such overwhelming retaliation...I would have thought the lords of Faerghus would act with more compassion.” She shook her head and clasped her hands in prayer. “Enough blood has been shed in Duscur for one lifetime. You have my permission, and my blessing, to make the journey; along with anyone willing to support you.”

Dimitri bowed low, relieved. “Thank you, Your Worship.”

Lady Rhea smiled, though the gesture was fleeting. There was old sorrow in her eyes now. “I think you are very brave to take this upon yourself, Prince Dimitri. Duscur is a place of great sorrow for you...not everyone is strong enough to face that.”

_...It's true. The thought of going back there makes me sick. I don't think I'll be returning to the place where it happened...but I know it won't be far away... _“It has to be done. I cannot abide meaningless, avoidable deaths.” _Had I not known what would happen if I did not make the attempt, I would rather flee from any thought of the land. _

_You owe them this, _Glenn reminded him. _You couldn't stop the lords then, but you can stop them now. _

“Indeed. You will make a fine king in time, my child. May the goddess watch over you.”

_Will she? The goddess must know what I am in my heart. Will she truly reach out her hand to someone with such darkness inside him? _

He didn't ask that aloud, for all that the question was so frequently on the tip of his tongue. Instead he accepted the dismissal with an inclined head and left the upper chapel at a brisk walk, intending to find Dedue and then the rest of his classmates. It was a week long journey to Duscur, and a week back; they would have to pack extensively and bring money for inns. Hannaman would deal with the latter, and there were enough horses to accommodate his classmates – especially since Ingrid had her own pegasus – but it did mean they had to leave sooner rather than later, so collecting what they needed had to start now. _And once we get there, _he thought ruefully, _I'm going to have to figure out how to dramatically arrive as the requested reinforcements, yet still undermine that man by releasing any Duscur warrior we defeat. _

Dedue was a creature of habit; if he wasn't in his room, or studying in the Blue Lions classroom, he was most likely in the greenhouse. With that in mind, Dimitri went to speak with Hannaman first so his professor could get started on getting the funds together.

He walked up to Hannaman's office and was more than a little surprised when the door swung open and slammed into him. He stumbled backwards with a yelp, his back hitting the stone wall.

The culprit let out a noise of surprise as she surged into the hall and stepped around to the door to stare at him. “Oh! D-Dimitri?” Lysithea sputtered, the storm of rage in her face dimming a bit into shock and embarrassment. “I didn't think you were – I totally just opened the door in your face didn't I?” She scrambled to his side and grabbed his face in her hands, examining him cautiously. “I'm sorry, are you okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Dimitri managed when he got over the shock, gently prying her fingers away. “I just wasn't expecting that.”

“I can't believe I did that,” Lysithea mumbled, her cheeks rapidly turning red. “Mom'll have a heart attack.” Her voice took on a faux-enthusiastic tone. _“'My dearest mother and father, today I had ice cream for lunch and I brained the Prince of Faerghus with a door. I guess tomorrow I'll trip and spill hot soup on the future Emperor so none of the three most important heirs on the continent feel left out.'_”

“Come now, you've done me no harm.” Dimitri insisted, releasing her hand and trying for a reassuring smile. _I wonder what's upset her so much. It's none of my business, but perhaps I should try to divert her attention from whatever she's killing in her mind..._ “Ingrid has done worse; why, just a year ago she washed one of the hallways of House Galetea and didn't warn Sylvain and I when we came to visit...” He chuckled. “Sylvain ran in to see her, slipped on the damp stone, and cracked his head on the wall. He was unconscious for half a mark until one of the castle staff came back with a healer.”

The white haired girl let out a startled laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Really?” She asked, her obvious anger and distress receding further in the face of that mental image. “Oh, that's amazing. So I should just lure him to a recently-cleaned hall the next time he hits on Professor Byleth?”

“If you wish,” Dimitri said easily to hide the stab on irritation the thought of Sylvain flirting with Byleth gave him. “...Am I to understand you've hit Claude with a door too?”

“No!” Lysithea said, looking mightily indigent. “I hit him with a textbook _and that doesn't count _because he deserved it!”

He laughed a little at that because even he had heard Claude teasing Lysithea over her attempts to appear mature. “Somehow, I don't doubt it.” Lysithea grinned in turn, relaxing. “Of course, Claude's head is thick enough it wouldn't do him any harm.”

“Hah!” Lysithea cackled. “I like you. Good luck with Hannamen!” She scampered off at that, glancing at him over her shoulder before rounding the corner.

Dimitri's smile grew a tad rueful. _It's amazing how Claude and his classmates seem so happy and at ease, even when they hint at the burdens they are carrying. How do they do that? Is it something about how the Alliance looks at the world? Or is it just something about them? _Giving his head a shake, he walked through the door to speak with Hannamen.

His professor looked quite chagrined and a little stunned; clearly something had happened with Lysithea that the older man was reeling over. Fortunately that meant Dimitri's request was a ready and desired distraction, so he began to crunch the numbers and take notes over a map. Hannamen was well-traveled, as benefited a long-lived Crest Scholar, so he knew his way around the continent. While he'd never been to Duscur, he'd traveled near it; there were a few inns along the way that he'd had experience with, letting him help plot out a quick route.

With that settled, Dimitri left to go find Dedue.

Taking the stairs down to the first floor and heading to the front hall gave Dimitri a small surprise. Dedue was lingering in the hall, his posture more rigid than usual; perhaps most wouldn't notice the difference, given how his friend held himself, but he could tell in the stiffness of the other boy's shoulders how worried he was. What surprised him was that he wasn't the only person who'd noticed – Byleth and Claude were both standing by, the former clearly asking after Dedue's troubles.

“Your Highness,” Dedue greeted as he made his way down the stairs. There was an edge to his voice, whether it relief or hope he wasn't certain. “You've returned.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Dedue.” He glanced at Byleth and Claude. Byleth's stoicism had softened enough to show a bit of concern, while Claude had his arms crossed and wearing a thoughtful, carefully observant expression. “Professor, would you...?” He paused, and then – with an odd thought seizing him – shook his head. “Well actually, if you don't mind Dedue, would you hear this as well?”

“I don't mind,” Dedue rumbled, though he gave Claude an uneasy side-eye.

“Dedue is already aware, but there has been an uprising in the Duscur region, in the western part of the Kingdom.” Dimitri stated. Saying the words out loud brought a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach; as if his voice had made it real.

“There is?” Byleth asked uneasily. Claude didn't say anything, but his expression immediately became grim. “Why now?”

Dimitri hesitated. For a traveling mercenary, Byleth was oddly sheltered and – dare he say it – naive. There were many things that most took for granted that she simply didn't seem to be aware of. Had Sir Jeralt been so desperate to keep away from the church those years when he raised her that he kept her all but cut off from Fodlan itself? “Dedue...would you like me to explain?”

“No. It is fine.” Dedue turned to face Byleth, severe and straight-faced as ever. “I am from Duscur. It lies just beyond the mountains on the northwestern border of Faerghus. But the people of Duscur no longer live there.”

“The Tragedy displaced _everyone_?” Claude said, visibly startled. He winced at Dedue's scowl. “I hadn't realized it was so...complete. ...Everyone?”

...If Dimitri hadn't known what he did about the brunette, he probably would have missed the hint of empathy – and of fear – in his voice.

“The land was burnt to ashes by the army of Faerghus,” Dedue responded simply. “Those who did not die in the flames were driven from their homes to the mountains. There is little, if anything, that remains standing of the Duscur of old.” He closed his eyes. “This was our punishment for the crime of Regicide.”

Byleth slowly pivoted and stared at Dimitri. It took everything he had not to flinch. “Faerghus did this?” She asked, faint and almost disbelieving.

He didn't know how to respond. What could he say? That in his first true test as prince, he'd failed to control his own people? Claude's gaze flickered over to him, emerald eyes serious, and he minutely shook his head – somehow both hearing and disagreeing with Dimitri's thoughts. _It's not your fault, _the other teen had said that fateful night in the greenhouse. He couldn't truly believe it, yet some small part of him clung to that lifeline with both hands.

“In the wake of the murder of their beloved king,” Dedue noted, though his voice was even as ever. Dimitri knew he didn't consider that a just reason – neither of them did – but there would be a time and a place for that. “Now, the barren expanse that was once the heart of Duscur is controlled by a kingdom noble. But Duscur survivors, such as myself, still exist outside the region. This uprising is most likely the work of said survivors, seeking to reclaim their homeland.”

There was something in Claude's expression that suggested he thought that was perfectly fair, but instead he said, “So what's going to happen? I take it they can't muster a force that could really compete with the kingdom's army. Not in the scattered state they're in.”

Dimitri nodded. “A message was sent from Viscount Kleiman to the kingdom capital and the church. He's the one who rules there as of present.” He wondered if his vehement dislike of the man – racist, petty and incompetent that he was – made its way into his tone despite his best efforts, because Byleth was frowning at him in concern. “For now, the lords surrounding the Duscur Region are sending their armies to help suppress the uprising. However...”

“You're not afraid they'll fail.” Byleth said in understanding. “You're afraid of what will happen if they succeed.”

Dimitri swallowed hard. She'd hit upon the precise fear that was buzzing at the back of his skull without rest; the words felt like knives digging into his lungs. “Yes. My greatest fear now is that there will be more unwarranted death.” He gave his head a shake. “If the kingdom's army and the rebel forces collide, there's no doubt in my mind that the rebels will be annihilated. And...it could be worse than even that. It could turn into complete and bloody chaos for both sides.”

Dedue shut his eyes, pained.

“Which brings me to my news,” Dimitri continued stoically, placing a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. “I have received the permission I requested from the Archbishop.”

“The Blue Lions are going to Duscur?” Byleth asked.

“Yes. Us, and anyone I can convince to join on my mad crusade,” Dimitri said with a faint grin. “Both Sir Catherine and Sir Shamir have returned from their last mission, so I hope to convince at least one of them to help.”

“So we may go?” Dedue said hopefully.

“Yes,” He said firmly, before looking at Byleth. “Professor, if you'd be willing to ask Captain Jeralt to accompany us, I would greatly appreciate that. Not only would his being there lend me a bit more legitimacy as 'the reinforcements', but having the strongest man who ever lived helping would take a load off my mind.”

Byleth opened her mouth, paused, and then gave Claude a meaningful look. The brunette grinned at her, nodded, and then put his hands behind his head. “We can do one better than that, can't we Teach?” She smiled at him and nodded. Claude pivoted toward Dimitri and said, “Lorenz could use some exercise anyway. Otherwise he'll never stop complaining about the training regime!”

“What,” Dedue said blankly.

“We'll come along too,” Claude responded easily, as if there was nothing _absurd and ridiculous _about a rival house spontaneously dropping everything they were doing in order to assist the Blue Lions on an extremely dangerous two-week extracurricular. “You're picking up anyone you can get your hands on, right? Consider us bought. I'll go bang on the Golden Deer dorms and see how many of them are interested.” He casually turned around and walked toward the dining hall without waiting for a response. “I'll leave your father to you, Teach. Let me know if you need a little help with sweet-talking.”

Byleth rolled her eyes fondly. “Very funny,” she said with a little smile.

“Is he serious?” Dedue asked, and if Dimitri wasn't so utterly taken by surprise himself, he might have been amused by how blindsided his normally stoic friend was.

“He so rarely acts it, but yes.” Byleth said with a soft smile. “Claude values life a great deal; I don't think he would have been comfortable not inviting himself along.”

“I...” Dimitri scrambled for an intelligent response for a couple of seconds before getting his thoughts in order. “I'm grateful for the offer, Professor, but do you and your students not have responsibilities here for the duration?”

“Nothing that can't be postponed,” Byleth said with a shrug. “Everyone has passed their intermediate exams, and we haven't been given an end-of-month mission. I see no reason we can't offer you all the help we can give.” Her eyes darkened. “Especially for something this important.”

Dedue blinked, shook his head, and then bowed. “You have my most sincere gratitude,” He rumbled, warmth and reverence usually reserved for Dimitri himself in his voice.

“And mine as well,” Dimitri said. The words felt completely inadequate compared to the rush of warmth the offer had given him, but they were all he had.

* * *

Dimitri felt he could have been knocked over by a feather when he entered the stables to find the entire Golden Deer house discussing travel accommodations. He'd expected maybe one or two to join in on Claude's harebrained choice to help his dangerous plan; to see _all _of them there was humbling, to say the least.

Catherine was leaning against a stall, talking to Sir Jeralt while he worked on saddling his horse. Hannamen was saying something to Byleth, who nodded attentively as she groomed the mane of a young pegasus that had been brought to the stable a few weeks ago. A number of the mercenaries Dimitri recognized from that day in the woods were milling about, several of them handing out weapons from an old trunk. A startled Marianne was protesting the gift of a Levin sword from a stately young woman with a nasty scar on her shoulder; next to her, Bernadetta was staring at the short sword in her hands as though expecting it to come to life. Lysithea adjusted the strap of the steel shield over her back and eyed the knife she'd been given with a degree of uncertainty; Ingatz fumbled with the forged iron sword before buckling it to his belt. A priestess walked over to Mercedes and offered her a staff carved with runes; a magic staff, or a healing one? Dimitri knew both were handed out by the church, but he could never tell them apart. Cyril was there as well, looking a little intimidated by the warriors he was surrounded with. The young boy fiddled with his bow, the ax he'd been given upon entering Byleth's class banging against his leg.

Claude was talking to an indigent-looking Ingrid; given that his expression was wavering between exasperation and bemusement, Dimitri thought it prudent to go and rescue him from his well-meaning but frequently overbearing friend. “I can't believe you're all coming,” He told the brunette, putting a hand on Ingrid's shoulder. She huffed a bit before walking off to tend to her mount. “How in the world did you spin missing at least two weeks of regular instruction for going on this mad quest into something desirable?”

Claude shot him a playful smirk. “The same way I always do,” he replied cheerfully. “With the ease of long practice.”

Dimitri huffed out a laugh. “Edelgard might be right; you _are _a conman,” He said incredulously.

“Hey, I resent that! Being a conman implies I don't follow through on my promises. I swear to you right now, Mitya – I _always _follow through on my word.” The brunette smirked. “I consider that a point of pride, as a matter of fact.”

And something flashed through those emerald orbs that left Dimitri with no recourse but to believe him. “I'll have to remember that,” He said with a mildness he didn't quite feel.

“I gotta admit, I surprised myself when Bernadetta agreed to come,” Claude remarked casually, glancing back in the purple-haired girl's direction. “She kind of looks like she'll be regretting it in a few days, but she agreed to come. Usually only the threat of starvation is enough to make her leave her room.”

“Well, I hope she'll be alright.” Dimitri muttered. “It will be difficult to turn around once we leave. You might want to make it clear she can change her mind _before _then.”

“Yeah, you're right.” He shrugged. “I'll remind Teach, though I'm not sure I'll need to.” Claude looked up and down the stalls and sighed. “Ah, we're going to have to double up. Isn't Sylvain training on horseback?”

“Yes, though he hopes to transition to a wyvern eventually.”

“What do you know, he _does _have some good tastes.” Before Dimitri could make a surprised comment – he hadn't taken Claude for a 'sky worshiper' (that's what Sylvain had always called Ingrid's love of flying and pegasi) and most wyvern riders he'd met chiefly used axes – the brunette went on, “He can double up with someone, then. Since Ingrid can fly on her own, and Ashe has some passing experience with horseback riding, that leaves Felix and Mercedes, right? One of them can ride with you, the other with Sylvain, and Ashe can take Dedue. Meanwhile...hm, Marianne could probably take Bernie if she doesn't ultimately bail out, they'd probably be most comfortable with each other...Leonie's got her own ride, she can take Lysithea...Cyril, Raphael and Ingatz will probably double up with Captain Jeralt's mercenaries...Lorenz can ride his own...” The brunette made a face. “...And since pegasi don't like men, he's stuck with me while Teach takes Hilda. I think that covers everyone, though.”

Dimitri wasn't entirely sure Claude realized he'd said the second half of that out loud, but he patted his shoulder sympathetically nonetheless. He didn't know Lorenz very well, but a few conversations were enough to know that the other man could be a bit tiring to deal with. “I will always appreciate your sacrifice,” He said dryly.

Claude beamed in response. “I _am _corrupting you! Just you wait; I'll have you joking around in no time.”

Dimitri rolled his eyes and fought down an amused smile. His eyes drifted over to Annette, who was looking down at a forged iron ax being offered to her by that stately scarred woman – Hannah, was that her name?; Byleth had mentioned a few of her fellow mercenaries frequently enough for him to remember them – who animatedly gestured for the younger girl to accept it. Now curious, he nodded to Claude and made his way over to Byleth, who was adjusting the straps of the saddle. The pegasus whined and shed slightly away from him as he approached; he quickly stopped and stepped aside so it didn't seem that he was cutting it off from the barn's exit door.

“What is it, Dimitri?” Byleth asked without looking up from her task.

“I'm surprised you knew that Annette had passing familiarity with axes,” He started. “Might I ask why you gave her one? She prefers magic by far.” There was little chance that the mercenaries knew the pastimes of the students, after all.

“I know,” Byleth said, nodding as she finished tying the leather. Dimitri noticed she had her bow and quiver again, the new steel glinting in the torchlight as she strapped the Sword of the Creator to the saddle. “It's meant as a last resort weapon, and a means of surprising an enemy. In my experience, no one ever expects a mage or a priestess to be physically armed; this way if something goes wrong and she or Marianne or Mercedes are exposed, they have more than one option to defend themselves with.”

“I see,” It was something he never would have thought of, for all that he worried about his physically vulnerable friends being exposed.

“As for knowing about her and axes...” Byleth sighed. “It was an educated guess, really...mostly rooted in Sir Gilbert's arrival.”

He blew out a long breath. “Ah, that...did she tell you?”

“I guessed; they look very alike, and Annette seemed distressed after his arrival. I ended up interrogating him, and he said as much, though not why he was here instead of at home with her mother,” There was a hint of irritation and something else in the undercurrent of those words; Dimitri suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that the reason Byleth 'interrogated' Sir Gilbert had everything to do with Annette being 'distressed'. “Anyway, I know it isn't a weapon that uses her greatest strengths, but it's another option, and I thought that may be prudent.

“I'm grateful for your concern,” Dimitri said after a moment, “and for the weapons, seeing as your opening the troupe's inventory for them.”

“It's the least we can do,” The woman – Hannah – said from behind him. He blinked and turned toward her; the short blonde with gray eyes smiled wryly at him. “A couple of weapons have nothing on the lives of your friends there; worst case scenario, we just have to replace them as we have before.” She walked over and gave the pegasus's neck a pet, then looked at Byleth. “She's not used to combat, so I wouldn't take her into battle. But she'll get you there just fine.”

“I see.” Byleth smiled wryly. “I'm not a competent enough rider to fight and fly at the same time as it is.” She put her foot in the stirrup and swung herself up onto the winged horse's back, carefully settling herself ahead of the wings.

_That's a pity, _some small part of Dimitri's mind said. _Astride such a beautiful mount, you're the vision of a warrior queen. _

Hannah was smiling knowingly at him. He felt his cheeks flush, and part of him worried that Jeralt was watching him. Once _that _thought settled in his head, he stammered out one last 'thank you' and scrambled off toward his own horse.

* * *

As they drew closer, day by day, to Duscur, whatever thought process Dimitri wasn't solely dedicating to keep himself from screaming noted that at least this time they weren't getting rained on.

_Small mercies, _Glenn chuckled. He and his father were almost a constant presence in his head now, their voices edged with anticipation and expectation. _Well, it can't rain all the time. _

“Dimitri?” Mercedes's soft voice echoed in his ear. She gently rubbed his shoulders. “Are you alright? You're terribly tense.”

“Ah...” He glanced down at his hands, white-knuckled on the reigns of his horse. “I'm sorry, Mercedes. I'm letting my mind run away from me and invent disasters before we've even arrived.” It wasn't a lie. Not quite the truth, but not a lie. He was good at that. “Please, don't worry too much about me.”

“Are you sure?” Her grip tightened just a bit. “It costs me nothing to care for you, Dimitri. I'd be glad to help however I can.”

He managed a smile at that. “Just having you and our friends here is a great boon for my nerves; especially so with Claude and the Deer having come along. I'm confident we can do this, I just can't help but worry on and off.”

Mercedes hummed, not quite convinced but conceding nonetheless. Dimitri looked around, taking stock of his classmates. Marianne and Ashe were keeping stride of each other; Ashe was happily regaling her with the tale of Loog and the Maiden of Wind while Marianne listened attentively. Bernadetta was half listening to the story, half hiding in Marianne's arms; meanwhile, Dedue was looking ahead, looking graver and graver the closer they came to his homeland.

Behind them, he could hear Felix griping about Sylvain's jokes, clearly not understand what about them Hilda found so funny. If Byleth was amused or annoyed by them, he couldn't tell, but she hadn't told him off for a day or so now – so either she was used to his sense of humor or he was staying away from whatever it was that irritated her. On his other side, Raphael was telling Ignatz an anecdote from his sister Maya's childhood, while Ingrid offered suggestions about potential presents for her next birthday.

...He was trying to focus on anything but his own thoughts. As they made their way through the mountains to the plains of Duscur, the memories drew nearer and nearer until it was all he could do to hold himself together. Wasn't it unworthy of him that he was so terribly afraid of a land that had suffered as much as he himself had? If not more?

When they reached the ridge between the two mountains, Dimitri could see the flag of Faerghus on the far right of the high rise and hear the distant war chants of Duscur just ahead of them.

The first part of the plan was simple and easily implemented – Captain Jeralt and the other Knights of Serios would go, join up with the Viscount and his forces as requested, and stall for as long as possible before setting out. That left the heart of the struggle with them...

Most of them dismounted; only Ingrid, Leonie, Sylvain and Lorenz being comfortable fighting while riding. “Cyril, I want you guarding Lysithea,” Byleth said, taking the Sword of the Creator and buckling it to her hip before slinging her bow off her shoulder. “Ashe, will you and Bernadetta stay close to Marianne?”

Ashe blinked, looked over at the two girls, and smiled shyly. “I – of course, that's no trouble at all.”

“Mercedes...”

“I'll be with Dedue, Professor.” The blonde said lightly, smiling. “Please don't worry about me.”

Byleth nodded lightly then turned toward Dimitri, silently giving authority to him. Claude meandered over to the edge of the path and rested his hands on the stone, taking in the hills and drops with a silent critical eye. “That's certainly something,” he muttered. “There's...what, fifty, sixty of them? In total? If this really all of them...” He shook his head, visibly disturbed. “Yeah. We better get going.”

Dimitri grimaced in agreement, then raised his voice just a bit. “Everyone,” both lions and deer alike turned to face him in unison. Humbling; yes...that was a good word for it. “What we're about to undertake is a venture most would call 'foolhardy'. To go up against an opponent that is gunning for victory, and fighting to disable...it's a dangerous venture, and it will require more skill and effort than a more 'normal' battle. But I have faith in this cause, and in all of us. Right now, I am surrounded by some of the most competent people I've met in years. We are organized, they are not; we are not desperate, blind with anger, or held back by anything but a desire to save lives rather than end them. So let's win this; for Duscur and for Faerghus!”

It wasn't a speech he'd planned, but it made his fellow classmates cheer with enthusiasm and determination. The stone that sat so heavily in his stomach seemed to loose a fraction of its weight in an instant. “Forward!”

Ingrid lead the way as they crossed the last rocky outcropping down into the hills where the battle would be fought.

It was easier to see now. They had reached a wide grassy pathway in a gulf between two mountaintops; one rose while the other fell; a steep incline impassible to all but Ingrid's pegasus separated the two pathways. They would have to travel down and around in order to climb the other slope, which was a slightly worrying realization to come to when Dimitri saw how many warriors of Duscur were on that mountain. There was enough undergrowth that between the warriors and limited visibility, they would have to walk slower than he'd like to make it around the bend...

“Dead ahead,” Claude said from his right, pointing with an arrow. Byeth slid to a halt on his left, eyeing the same slope he'd been examining with a small frown. Dimitri followed the point and saw a dozen Duscur warriors arrayed out several yards ahead, walking directly away from them. “The rest will probably come running once we surprise them.”

“Not the ones on the other mountain,” Dimitri noted grimly. “I don't want to send Ingrid the cliff alone. Duscur takes pride in its archers; I doubt even a force this size would come without any. Ah, the Faerghus knights will come from the mouth of the mountain on that side...”

“We'll think of something,” Claude said; he sounded like he believed it, but Dimitri wasn't sure how they would go about that. “Right after I take a stab at figuring out where I can shoot someone with an arrow that won't kill or cripple them.”

“Arms. Legs. Shoulders. The ankles are the best place to target, though that's a personal belief. Duscur holds healing magic in high regard; unless muscle memory takes over, you can avoid killing.” Byleth said, quiet and reassuring. She didn't look away from the

“Right,” Claude exhaled and then took an arrow out. “What are you going to do, Dimitri?”

“Mostly?” The prince, apropos to nothing, found himself smiling wryly. He bent his wrist back a bit and let the family Crest flicker in and out. “I was born a Blaiddyd. That's all I need.”

Byleth hummed, her gently amused expression replaced with contemplation. “I wonder...” She glanced over her shoulder. “Ingrid? Can you see just over that ridge? Don't go too high up, I don't want you to be seen, I just want recon. Where are the Duscur soldiers relative to us?”

There was a flutter as Ingrid hastened to obey; a moment later, she swept back down and said, “There are a few near the mouth of the canyon, but most of them are waiting on a plateau a few yards ahead of our position here.” She grimaced. “At least two archers. Sorry professor, I don't like my odds of leading them away.”

“That's fine, thank you.” Byleth lowered her hand to the hilt of the Creator sword, tapping it with her ring finger. “Any archers straight ahead?”

“No.”

The professor nodded lightly. “Then you, Lorenz and Leonie are up.”

Ingrid nodded, raised her lance, and then took off at a gallop. Leonie let out a rallying shout, causing the men ahead of them to spin around in alarm and then scatter in every direction as she thundered straight through the middle of their formation, Lorenz and Sylvain following in her wake. Lorenz threw a fireball at the grass after he passed by the last of the warriors; the luck of the goddess was on their side, because despite of the fact the air was not dry at all, the flames caught and then began to spread, discouraging their quarry from following or quickly regaining cohesion.

Claude went forward a few steps, leaning against a tree as he took aim – a few moments longer than he usually used, though his hands were steady as ever. As Dimitri emerged from the forest lance in hand, the arrow whisked forward and slammed into one warrior's shoulder. He dropped his ax with a tortured cry of alarm, staggered, but didn't fall. The rest of his brothers swung around to face them.

“There!” One of them shouted, pointing a gauntlet-clad hand at him. Dimitri snorted lightly, bringing his lance up. Dedue had initially been against him wearing the regalia, but he knew it would draw them to him like a moth to a flame. Flirting with danger? Perhaps. But it would serve its purpose. “It's the prince of Faerghus!”

“You must not go any further,” Dimitri said firmly while Dedue, Felix, and Raphael emerged from the forest to stand by his side. “The army of Faerghus dwarfs you threefold. There is nothing but death waiting in this valley. Flee while you still can!”

“Flee? From here?!” One of the warriors raged. “This is our home, deceiver! These are our lands! Your people have no right to it or anything else!”

“Be careful,” Dimitri reminded his friends. Felix snorted and darted forward to meet the brawler that had singled him out, bringing the sword down on the metal and forcing it aside. Raphael ducked past a fire ball and knocked his fists together; an arrow whipped past him, grazing the mage and making them stumble – leaving them unprepared for the massive teenager who tackled them with all his might and weight, throwing them to the ground and knocking all the air from their lungs. Dedue caught an ax in the curve of his armored arm, wrenched it aside, and headbutted his adversary. The man stumbled back, flailing; an arrow caught his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon with a cry.

Dimitri let the brawler who had cried out run up toward him, driving the point of his lance into the dirt and letting it go. He raised his hand and grabbed the fist swung at his face, stopping it dead the way one picked up a stone off the ground. The man's eyes widened in disbelief; Dimitri returned the look with an even smile, knocked his arm away and punched him square in the nose. It was good that, whenever it mattered the most, his massive strength could be curtailed; the man crumbled like a sack of bricks, soundly unconscious and nursing a broken nose, but nothing worse than that.

Lysithea ran up to the edge of the pathway, looked down, and threw one fireball after another, after another. Dimitri heard an alarmed and frightened shriek and a clanking sound often heard when an armored knight was struggling to run; Cyril stuck his head over the edge, bow at the ready, and yelled, “Is that enough, or are you hungry for more?!” A high pitched response formed of a disjointed combination of Duscur's native tongue and fragmented common babbled back at him. “Er, o-kay, drop the ax – that's easy to understand. Yup, that's what I thought. Now run along!”

The boy had just barely said that when his head snapped to the right; he pushed Lysithea back (much to her chagrin) and fired an arrow further down the path. “Archer and mage incoming!” He said. “Be careful, Marianne!” The blunette raised her free hand in acknowledgment from where she was kneeling next to Felix's victim, healing the gouge the swordsman had cut through his side. Bernadetta fumbled with her bow and then raised it, eyes trained on the road up from the valley.

Dimitri was fairly impressed to notice that, while her legs were shaky, her hands on the bow and arrow were rock steady. _You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, my fearful classmate. _

Grabbing his lance, Dimitri strode forward and watched the road as the archer continued to pay hide and seek with Cyril, incidentally keeping Lysithea back within the tree. Claude entered the side of his vision, training his bow and letting out a short breath before firing. Dimitri heard a clang and spared an incredulous second to wonder if he had just seen seen his friend _shoot an arrow out of the sky like a fable _before another brawler was upon him.

He dodged to the right, sidestepping with ease and hitting the man's back with the blunt end of his lance. A kick to the back of the knee caused him to stumble, and Claude finished demolishing the warrior's will to fight with one arrow in the ankle – piercing straight through the leather.

“Why?” The mage rasped, staring uncomprehendingly at Mercedes while the blonde carefully sealed up the wound just enough that the bleeding stopped, but not enough to fully heal the limb as to make fighting truly fesible. It was a worse job than she usually did, and he could see it pained her not to erase the injury as she always did with her patients, but it was necessary.

“I will not abide the needless deaths of my people,” Dedue said, pulling the woman to her feet. “Go now. Flee, take them with you. The army of Faerghus will not be as discerning as us.”

Shouts were breaking out on the other side of the mountain; distant, but not so far away as to be inaudible. Dimitri swore, because that was exactly what he was afraid of...

Could Ingrid bring Claude or Bernadetta or Cyril up over the incline long enough to take out the archers? No, it was too dangerous, they'd be rushed by the full might of however many men were on the plateau just a bit up and across from them...

Byleth walked past him, swinging her bow up over her shoulder and drawing the Sword of the Creator. There was an odd quality to her eyes; he couldn't tell if he were imagining things or not, but it was as if she was trying to listen for a single voice amist the chaos. He reached for her, wondering what she hoped to do-

-And then the sword lit up with blazing red and gold flame. Dimitri jumped back, wide-eyed, as the empty hole in the blade's hilt blazed to life with the image of the Crest that adorned every text that referenced the Goddess. The flames spread further than the first time she held it; the air around her _boiled, _crackling with magical power so intense it warped the world around her. Byleth flicked her wrist back, splitting the blade into a dozen sharp sections burning with the light of the sun, and then launched it forward with a scream of exertion.

The impact, so close to him, sounded like the rending of the world.

_Oh, it's nothing; just some old story about a sword that could cut a mountain in half with a single swing. _

Dimitri staggered backwards, white spots flooding his vision as dirt, stone and roots flew through the air in all directions. The groan of stone giving way, the sizzling of rock melting wood burning and water turning to steam; half of his brain thought that a rock slide had started – or maybe an eruption, an event he only knew of in stories from the east. The ground beneath him shook so wildly he stumbled into a tree and leaned heavily on it, staring at the dust and light surrounding the figure of his professor, both her hands clutching the sword's hilt. He could vaguely hear a whole lot of shocked yelling from his classmates, Bernadetta's terrified shrieking, and the frightened cries of the Duscur warriors that had yet to flee into the woods. When the noise died down and the dust settled, the prince blinked a few times and let his eyes adjust to the new scene before him...

...Where there had been a rise, a rocky border and a level plateau, there was a massive tear – from one end of the hill to another. This new gorge was several feet wide and many deep; it couldn't be jumped easily and one risked falling into the sharp and still-glowing rocks at the bottom. Horses had no hope of crossing either. The result of a landslide created in an instant...Dimitri's eyes flickered to the right, seeing the men who had just moments ago been preparing to climb the mountain and face the approaching Faerghus army were approaching the scar – a wound in the earth, as if a massive creature had raked a single claw along the mountain – and gazing hesitantly at it.

Byleth's quiet cursing drew his eye. She dropped the sword, letting it clatter to the ground as its aura of power receded. She rubbed her palm and visibly flinched before casting Heal on herself. “I guess...they can't put that in a book...” She panted.

“Teach?” Claude stammered. He'd straight up collapsed against a bolder, and he'd gotten up halfway, staring wide-eyed at her.

“It's like you said...” Byleth said; Dimitri noted, alarm breaking through his stunned stupor, that she was swaying where she stood. “The blade...that could cut a mountain...”

“Yeah,” The brunette managed, for once in his life at a loss for words. “Just...just as the story said.”

“I thought I could...buy some time...we needed more time to reach them, or else...”

Dimitri crossed the distance between them and caught her as her legs buckled, shifting her weight so she was leaning on his shoulder. “Professor, what's wrong?” He asked worriedly.

“Heh...” Byleth rolled her head over, resting her forehead against his neck. “I bet...the stories never mentioned the power it took to do it...ah...I don't think I can trust my hand-eye coordination anymore...”

“That's alright,” He promised, incredulous and delighted and exasperated all at once; only Byleth could snatch a windfall from the jaws of defeat and then still think she had somehow come up short. There was nowhere for those warriors to go but back, towards them, and even if the Viscount arrived within the next minute, he would have a hell of a time maneuvering his people around that! “I'd support you myself, but I'm afraid we're not quite done yet. Raphael, would you-?”

“Yup,” The other teen said. “Hang on a sec, professor.” Byleth let out a startled yelp of protest when Raphael grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder. “Grab the sword, will you Claude?”

“I was raised on stories of the relics,” Ashe whispered, staring at the damage wrought and then down at the still-smoking blade in the grass. “All of them were full of amazing, _impossible _things...and yet, even now that I saw it with my own eyes, I can barely believe it...!”

“No wonder Nemesis was the sole ruler of the known world,” Sylvain said numbly; he, Leonie and Lorenz were leading their horses in a circle, letting them stomp their hooves and otherwise work to get a bit calmer. “I've seen my father with the Lance before. It was nothing like this.”

“No kidding,” Claude muttered, before cautiously placing his hand on the sword's hilt. When it didn't burn to touch, he lifted it up awkwardly. “Man, this thing is _heavy._”

“It is...?” Byleth blinked at him. “I would not have thought so...”

“And you have the compatible crest...” Claude blinked a few times and then shook his head. “Never mind; speculation can come later. Let's head down and round up the rest of them!”

“T-the r-rest of them?” Bernadetta squeaked, inching toward the pathway as Marianne got up and drew her sword. “W-Wouldn't they have run away after seeing _that_?!”

“I wouldn't blame them,” Leonie muttered.

Dedue lead the way down the hill. It quickly became clear that the other warriors had heard the impact, but had no idea what caused it, because they reacted no differently to the student's approach than the first few men had. Felix tackled an archer into the bushes; Ashe and Bernadetta forced a mage into up against the cliff and pinned him by his sleeves. Dedue himself grabbed a brawler and smacked the blunt side of his ax into his face, forcing him down with sheer overwhelming power.

Marianne zapped an armored knight once, wincing at the resulting agonized scream and rushing to heal him, lest his armor melt into his skin. Ashe let out a yell of warning and then jumped from the cliff onto the back of the horse rider that had charged her from behind; he crashed into the rider and threw both of them from the mount. Marianne's head snapped up in shock; maintaining just enough healing power to finish the job as the older and taller man wrestled with Ashe and slamming his head against the ground. The blue haired girl grabbed the Levin sword and sent a bolt of lightning at the man's unprotected back, dropping him into a twitching heap on the ground. Ashe groaned and struggled to push the armored body off of him; Marianne rushed to his side and rather ungently shoved the silver-haired archer's assailant to the side.

“Thank you,” Ashe said sweetly as she cast Heal on him. “Are you alright, Marianne?”

“I...I-I'm fine,” Marianne stammered. “I – I really should be thanking you...” Carefully she lifted him up so he was sitting. “Is that better? Do you think you can stand?”

“Of course. No worries; I'm as good as new.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Let's stick together, shall we?”

Bernadetta had been separated from her partner by an angry armored knight; she was struggling to do any meaningful damage to him when Felix threw himself in-between her and her aggressor. He ducked under the ax swing and rapidly stabbed at several chinks in the bulky steel, driving the man to his knees. “You're weak,” the blue-haired swordsman grumbled. He cast a pointed look at Bernadetta. “What do you think you're doing?” He snorted, grabbing her arm and pulling her close. “Stay close to me if you're going to freeze up like that.”

“I-I'm sorry!”

“Stop that. You apologize for everything; it's just noise at this point! Now stay behind me.”

Dimitri let out a small sigh of relief; _those could have gone very wrong..._He adjusted his grip on his lance and ducked into the trees, trusting Claude – lingering consistently in his footsteps – to see anyone the bushes might be hiding from his own eyes. They were descending down to the bottom of this valley; slow and steady progress, with only one or two deaths having proven to be unavoidable.

Byleth had as keen an eye as ever; even half conscious and leaning on Raphael, she was keeping their ragtag group well coordinated.

“They're coming down the mountain,” Claude noted. “Three horsemen, two archers, five brawlers. It looks like they're converging on someone – probably the war master. That sound right?”

“Yes. Ingrid, Sylvain, will your mounts move through the trees? If they're willing and able, please hurry.” They needed to keep the horses from charging anyone down. That was always the big fear when unmounted units had to face the magnificent animals...

Ingrid swept down from the sky, graceful as ever. Sylvain and Lorenz forced their way through the foliage with some help from Felix, and as the three horse men charged, Lorenz made use of his jousting training to knock one right off his mount. Ingrid and Sylvain ran a circle around the two other horses, leading them aside; Dimitri had the two archers in his sight then and went to deal with them.

A solid punch to the face downed one archer. _Almost done, we've almost got them routed...!_ “Heads up, Mitya,” Claude warned loudly, shooting out his opponent's bowstring without pause. “You've been recognized.” Dimitri glanced to the right and saw a massive warrior – his mind briefly darted back four years, to a field of fire and a man dressed and armed just so forcing him and Glenn into the trees just before being consumed by dark magic – pointing his weapon at him, stalking forward with deliberate intent.

“Right. Thank you."

_Stay focused, _his father hummed. _Don't go back to then. Stay here in the now. _

Dimitri felt his knuckles turning white on his lance.

“Now this is a windfall,” The war master thundered, focusing on him to the exclusion of all else. Dimitri knew that Claude was preoccupied forcing that archer to stay down, but he almost wanted to warn the man he wasn't alone. If only so he could see someone else realize a moment too late he'd overlooked and underestimated a certain brown-haired nuisance archer. “Who knew our sworn enemy would come out to greet us!”

“Sworn enemy?” Dimitri mused, shifting his stance. “I suppose that's fair enough.”

“We shall slay you and topple Faerghus!” The man lunged forward. “Then our people will be avenged!”

Dimitri let out a small sigh and dodged, sliding out of the way with ease. “I cannot die yet,” he said quietly. “There is too much I must settle.” He dodged again, darting past the man (he was faster than he looked, not many people expected it) and stabbed the man in the side. Yanking the lance out with some care – it wouldn't do to tear the wound, though the man's leather had protected him – he ducked out of the way of a retaliatory strike, then another one...

...and Claude's arrow hit an unprotected part of the man's back, staggering him. A second arrow hit the ankle, sending him to one knee. Dimitri smiled in thanks as the archer walked along and stopped next to him.

“_Gomen,_” The brunette said – not loudly, but not quietly, and Dimitri couldn't help but start and double-check the location of their fellow students. He'd never heard the Almyran language spoken before, but he knew both common and old Foldanese and this was neither. “_Koko deha katsu tena I.” _

The man, who'd been struggling to stand, froze. “You...” He stared hard at Claude's face. “You are not of Fodlan. How? Why?”

“Only by half,” Claude responded in common. “Enough to have a bit of an idea of what Dimitri wanted to avoid when he got his companions together to beat the Viscount and Faerghus here to you and your brothers.” He cocked his head. “First time I've shot to subdue rather than to kill. You learn new things every day with these crazy people.”

The man scowled. “Why stay with them? They'll never welcome you. The moment the next tragedy comes by, you'll be the first to die for it.”

Claude shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I'll take my chances. What I came here to chase is worth it.”

A war horn blared in the distance. The man's eyes widened, and he stared at Dimitri...and Dedue...with confusion and distrust. “Why save us?” He demanded.

“I cannot abide the needless deaths of my people,” Dedue said simply. “They will be here soon. Take our brothers and sisters, and flee.”

“My father considered the people of Duscur allies and friends,” Dimitri stated, squaring his shoulders. “I still believe that now. There will be an accounting for that day, for all who caused the senseless death and destruction. For whatever the word of Lambert's son is worth, I promise you; that pain _will _be paid for.”

The man glared, his posture shifting as he saw his weakened, beaten-back comrades retreating from the combined classes and Byleth, who was standing again. For several terribly long seconds, he wrestled with himself, with his rage and frustration and grief, before he finally snapped, “The men of Duscur do not forget our grudges! ...Or our debts.”

Even though they were spoken as a threat, the words kindled a small, fluttering hope in Dimitri's chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When did these chapters start getting so long? Seriously. I think this is the third that's gotten up and run away from me content-wise. Ah these characters, they feed my muse so much! 
> 
> Claude uses a little Japanese because I don't want to try and make up even a few words for the native Almyran language. Hope that's alright. Also, fun with the throwaway line that the Sword of the Creator could cut a mountain in half! The sword as it is at the moment can't do that - hence why Byleth got a hit with some backlash for what she did manage there - but it was enough to ensure that they'd be able to save those Duscur soldiers who always get themselves killed long before I have any hope of reaching them when I play this paralogue. Fun!
> 
> (Seriously, is there any feasible way to save all of the Duscur soldiers that doesn't involve massively cheesing it via buying skill levels and such with NG+? Because I seriously don't think so, and i've played it a few times now.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deer and the Lions return to the monastery only to find it in a state of controlled chaos. Claude wonders what fate has in store with him that they can't go a whole month without something terrible happening - and worries about finding Flayn before her kidnapper decides they've gotten everything they need from her.

They were laid up in an inn, a day's journey away from Garreg Mach; it was a comfortable one, by all means of judgment, well-appointed and luxurious. Yet even as he tossed and turned on the soft mattress in his room, Claude couldn't fall asleep. It wasn't the thunder and rain; he'd grown up with Almyra's spring storms and he was rather fond of the weather.

The source of his disquiet was nine days behind him.

_The frame job against Duscur was weak. An Alliance-born child would call it weak; hell, most of the kids I grew up with would call it weak, and none of them have the slightest head for skulduggery. But it was enough for the people of Faerghus to slaughter them like animals..._

Claude threw an arm over his forehead and breathed out slowly.

_It's not quite that simple, Riegan, _he reminded himself. _A lot of people lost family and friends when King Lambert and his retainers got slaughtered. Overwhelming grief is not conductive to intelligent, rational thought; and there's still the question of who _was _behind it if not Duscur..._

_...Ah, but does that really matter in the end? They killed children. They killed old wise men and women in their beds. They set entire cities to the torch. Even now the survivors of that massacre are hated and spat upon for something they were vaguely adjacent to; if they could have known about it at all. All of that on a flimsy lie. _

_A lie the Serios doctrine made so easy to believe. _

A part of Claude's heart that wasn't scarred over with world-weary cynicism ached with sympathy and worry for the ridiculous position Dimitri was going to be in once he ascended the throne. Some of his own people would resent and possibly hate him for wanting to reconcile with Duscur, and the people of that land would blame him for the evil that had been inflicted on them. After all, how many of them would know that Dimitri was their sole defender in a room full of people drunk on the need for revenge?

_Had they been pointed at the Alliance, would the men have been so easily whipped into a genocidal fury? Would the famously honorable knights have gone on a campaign of extermination and ruin if they believed a lord of the Empire had done the deed in an attempt to bring Faerghus back under Imperial rule? Maybe. Relations have been better in recent years, but that doesn't make them warm. _

_But somehow I doubt the northern lords would have called their retaliation a 'holy crusade for justice' if their enemy was native to Fodlan._

As if he needed another keen reminder of the biggest risk to his plans.

Claude let out a low growl and threw his legs off the side of the bed. He hadn't changed out of his day clothes yet, having dropped onto the bed and stewed in his thoughts before turning his attention solely to the storm just after the end of dinner. He'd said he wanted to finish up a book he'd started, but the words – the warning, maybe, they were almost spoken kindly compared to the prickly disbelief Dimitri had received – that the commander had thrown at him kept interrupting his thoughts.

_The army of Faerghus killed everyone they found. The elderly, the children, beggars on the streets, everyone. How did they justify that to themselves? Was Regicide really enough to kill the civilians along with the men and women old enough to wield weapons? Asch's blood and bones... _

_...It's probably for the best that Dimitri decided to insert himself into my life and start calling me a friend. I doubt any of my original plans for gaining sway in Faerghus would have gone over well once I properly introduced myself. _

He was better for that, honestly; even if it made reaching his long-held dream more difficult. Dimitri deserved _far _better than being on the wrong end of a usurper's scheme after everything he'd survived. And really, would Claude have been _worthy _of being any sort of great Unifier if he betrayed that kindly, suffering prince after winning his trust?

A few months ago, his thoughts on that question would have been largely practical – if remorseful. Now the mere concept made him feel sick. Dimitri's friendliness and earnest compliments – the wariness of the Blue Lions giving way to curiosity and fascination – sometimes left him internally squirming with guilt; because unifying Fodlan as he'd initially imagined he would, no matter how he planned it, would have come at their expense.

_What was that thing mom said about my grander schemes when I was a kid? 'Be mindful of both the forest and the trees?' _Claude blew out a breath before leaving his room, careful to close the door quietly behind him. Most of his classmates were deep sleepers, but it cost him nothing to be careful. _It's easy to forget that the people that form the 'big picture' conquerors and saint-kings alike wish to control. But you _can't_ let yourself forget them, or else you let yourself devalue them in your mind and heart...and that leads to innocent lives being considered '_disposable_' for some nebulous 'greater good'. _He shook his head, frowning, letting a quiet recrimination cross his mind. _And I, of all people, should know better than to lessen the worth of others. _

He rolled his shoulders back. _Besides, isn't it better this way? My ridiculously noble and innocent prince, who wants nothing more than to reconcile with people his own consider enemies, wouldn't bat an eye at breaking the lid off the bottle. Hells, he'd probably be willing to help if I framed it the right way, despite the relationship he has with the church._

_Wait. When the hell did Dimitri become 'my prince?'_ Claude ran a hand through his hair, his usual smile coming out crooked and a little helpless. _I guess I've had so few friends in my life I can't help but be possessive of the one who came to me in spite of it all. _

Yes, friend...friend was a good word. Friend was a nice, safe word, and it happened to be true, so that was all the better for it. He pointedly ignored the keening sensation in his heart in favor of focusing on that happy thought.

He paused mid step near the end of the hall, the carpet scratching lightly against his bare feet. There was torchlight shining from the bottom of the stairs; curious. This particular inn was three stories, and while the entrance hall and the hallways were always kept lit for the sake of late-night travelers, the upper floors having some light in them suggested he wasn't the only person who was having trouble chasing sleep. _Huh...maybe they'll have the bar down there open. A drink would be kind of nice...especially if they have apple cider. _

Heading down the stairs, Claude blinked a few times to adjust his vision to the low light. The three torches at the second floor's bar were lit, and there was a faint light beyond the door to the kitchen. He wasn't really surprised to see the lone figure sitting at the bar table, sipping from a mug. No one could blame him for being troubled in spite of their success; after all, this was only a temporary reprieve until Dimitri took the throne...

“Who's there?” Dedue rumbled, not looking up from the counter. His voice was mostly even, but underneath there was a tiredness he'd never shown outwardly.

“Just me.” Claude said, walking over and leaning against the cool wood, squinting at the bottles on display in the cabinets. “My brain's a bit too busy to sleep, I guess. They got any cider here?”

Dedue twisted slightly to look up at him. Claude dipped his head a bit so he could see the broader teen out of the corner of his eye. There was a flicker of that familiar suspicion, but it was mixed in now with uncertainty and...what might be curiosity, if he didn't miss his guess. “I do not know. You can go in the kitchen and ask, if you wish; a few of the servants are still awake as well.”

Claude nodded after a moment, rocking back on his heels before heading on and slipping past the oak door. Sure enough, there was a tired-looking yet smiling young woman within, who giggled and blushed at the charming smile he offered while asking after the preferred beverages and how much they went for. _More expensive than it would at a tavern at home, but then again, Almyran inns expect to be invaded by small armies in need of congratulatory toasts on a fairly regular basis. _He was rather delighted to find they did, in fact, have his favorite drink (even though no one could make cider quite like his mother) and it only cost three silver.

“I hope they pay her well for staying up half the night,” he remarked conversationally when he returned to the bar and dropped unceremoniously into one of the chairs at the counter.

Dedue didn't respond, but that wasn't discouraging. The Duscur native was a man of few words, and if there was something on his mind that he thought of as important, he would speak it in a simple and blunt way soon enough. He could almost feel the other teen looking at him, so something was clearly on his mind... So Claude leaned back in his seat and hummed softly, sipping from the comfort drink that had soothed him in the wake of all his troubles throughout the years.

“Riegan.”

_That was fast. _“Yeah?”

“Why did you bring you and yours to help us?” It wasn't clear whether Dedue was referring to the Blue Lions or to his fellow men from home. Perhaps he meant both.

“Is it not enough to say I thought the cause was worthy?”

“I don't quite believe you do anything without what you believe to be good reason.”

“That's not a good one?” Claude took another drink, closing his eyes to enjoy the sweet taste sliding down his throat. “I do mean it, you know. I'm aware I rarely look like I take anything seriously...but I do, when it matters.”

Dedue regarded him for a minute. “...You are not of Fodlan.” He said the words with complete certainty.

Claude let out an aggrieved sigh. He'd known it was an impulsive gesture, speaking to that man as he had; but he'd felt compelled to drive home the image of an outsider working as an equal with the Prince of Faerghus, and he'd opened his mouth before he could change his mind or at least check for eavesdroppers. “Why is it, that just because my father was born east of the mountains, that means I'm 'not of Fodlan'?” He bit out with just a hint of a lifelong resentment, his fingers tightening on the mug. “Why should my mother's decision to marry for love invalidate every tie she has to the land she grew up in? Is that justice? I don't think so.” He threw his head back against the chair, groaning. “Look, I'd _really_ appreciate it if you didn't spread that around. It's not something I can afford to widely acknowledge just yet.”

What was getting into him, to be this careless with his _most important _secret? Clearly he was getting complacent, too comfortable with the easy camaraderie he was enjoying with his professor and his classmates. ...Worse comes to worst, he could beg Dimitri to order Dedue not to talk about it and know the command would be obeyed. He felt a little guilty blatantly exploiting his newfound friendship with him that way, but this was _kind of _valuable.

“His Highness knows, does he not?”

Claude tilted his head just enough to stare in bemusement. “...How'd you guess?”

“He did not seem surprised when you spoke your father's language.” Dedue's expression was largely unreadable, except for... “How did that come to be?”

“You could probably guess, can't you?” Claude felt his lips twitch upwards moments after he started to smile – small and fond. “He happened to stumble on someone harassing me and found his honor greatly offended by the display. Then he stepped in and interceded with more passion-” _than my own grandfather applied to legitimizing me _“-than anyone short of my parents had ever spent on a half blood.”

“Indeed he would,” Dedue decided after a moment of thought. “Riegan...what is in Fodlan for you that is worth the troubles its people bedevil you with?”

“Everything,” Claude responded enigmatically.

“...I am not certain I trust you,” The other teen informed him. “But I am grateful to you for what you have done for my people. And men of Duscur always repay their debts.” He took a drink. “No one will learn about your father from me.”

The rush of relief was almost dizzying. “Thanks.”

Dedue turned his head toward one of the torches, his expression thoughtful. “Who is he?”

“A warrior,” Claude responded, taking another sip; that small smile still lingering. “One of the best. My mother taught me how to use a bow, but it was father who encouraged my interest in strategy and taught me everything he knew from when I was old enough to ask of it.” He placed the mug on the table. “He has a laugh kind of like Sir Alois; loud and warm and it fills the whole room. You might find his sense of humor fairly macabre, but he's pretty easygoing by the standards of the east. He loves children, though he has to keep that under his hat to a certain extent; he always found time to play with me when I was little, and sometimes late in the evening I could find him down by the pond near the royal palace, overseeing the local kids playing war games. He's fierce on the battlefield; wise and cautious off of it.”

“...Not wholly unlike King Lambert, then.”

Claude sat up quickly, startled. “I don't think I've ever heard Dimitri talk about his father. And all anyone else seems to care about is how he died.”

Dedue made a small gesture with one hand. “His Highness is often reserved on the matter; but not to the point of being mute.” Something flickered in his eyes. “Your mother was quite fearless to cross the mountains for love alone.”

“Mother is the bravest person I've ever known.” That was just a fact, though he could and would say it with pride.

Dedue inclined his head in acknowledgment. Claude took another sip, listening to the thunder, rain and crackle-snap of the torches ad-mist the quiet.

“How do the warriors of Almyra avenge themselves?” The other teen asked, aprops to nothing.

“Typically? With a wyvern and an ax.” Claude said humorlessly. “There are a number of reasons Almyra has never been conquered; that's one of them.”

Dedue's lips twitched. “Then perhaps people should be more wary of you than they think.”

“Oh, I wouldn't _quite_ say that,” The brunette chuckled. “I'm only half, after all.”

“If that is what you wish,” The Duscur native rumbled; somehow simultaneously indulging him and politely calling him out a blatant lie.

_It's good Dimitri has someone like you keeping an eye out for him. _

* * *

“Ah, at long last! Garreg Mach!” Hilda let out a very theatrical sigh of relief and slumped against Byleth's back, utterly overwrought. Claude could _almost _hear their professor rolling her eyes. Bernadetta let out a whine of relief, slumping back against Marianne's chest. The blue-haired priestess patted her shoulder sympathetically, and a _quite_ tired-looking Annette added her voice to the wave of cheer at the sight of their destination. Very faintly he heard Felix grumble about how his classmates lack stamina and Sylvain chiding him for it somewhere behind him; if Dimitri was relieved to be back, he didn't vocalize it. “Our scholarly paradise! I can finally take a break from horseback riding; I ache _all over_!”

“Good; you should start doing some of the reading for your third tier exams,” Byleth responded in the sort of deadpan voice that leaves you wondering if the speaker is exhausted or being rather sarcastic. “Since you won't be doing anything else on account of being lying down and resting for long stretches of time, yes?”

“_Professor,_” The pinkette whined, “Don't you believe in taking breaks?! We just got back from a job and you want us to go straight to studying?”

“It is a perfectly sensible way to maintain your energy toward your obligations while unwinding after the traveling,” Lorenz said chidingly. “Really Hilda, you ought to treat your studies with the severity they deserve. A noble should be well-studied and diligent in every task they approach.”

“Teach is pulling your leg, Hilda.” Claude corrected, smiling innocently when Lorenz gave him an exasperated look. “Haven't you learned to tell the difference by now?”

“If I discover _you _avoiding studying, you'll find out exactly how much I'm joking.” His teacher informed him, glittering eyes slightly narrowed in a way that underlined her needling of the pinkette with a challenge.

“Teach, Teach!, have I _ever_ let you down before?” He bantered back, his lips curving into a smile without any conscious effort on his part.

“Not yet,” She acknowledged. “But if I wasn't worried about you trying to be sneaky, it would prove I don't know you at all.”

He laughed aloud, the warmth of the sun sinking into him. Hilda twisted back and gave him a meaningful look before smirking like she had a secret. _And just what's _that _supposed to mean?, _he glowered at her, but that seemed to amuse her more; she shrugged innocently and turned around, patting a confused Byleth on the arm.

“I know I should be used to traveling on horseback, but I'm glad we're home,” Ashe said with an exhausted chuckle. “I didn't expect the trip to be as draining as the battle itself!”

“Don't loose heart, Ashe. It's something you get used to,” Dimitri said reassuringly. “The more frequently we're sent out on expeditions like this, the less stress it will put on you.”

The Knights of Serios lead them down through the valley and into the town at the foot of the monastery. The first thing Claude noticed was that the children – orphans, locals, merchant's sons and daughters brought along on the long autumn road – that were usually omnipresent playing with the monastery pets and getting underfoot were completely absent. A quick look around made it clear that they weren't just relegated to the alleys, either – they were being kept inside and out of sight. _That's not a good sign. What's happened now? For the love of the goddess, it hasn't even been a _month _since something went to hell – _

It wasn't just the absent children that stuck out. The local shopkeepers and blacksmiths looked jumpy and actually _frightened_; many of them pausing to look warily over their shoulders whenever they walked away from a crowded area to somewhere more secluded. There were low-ranked knights and guards everywhere, tense and agitated, asking questions to anyone they stopped on the streets. There was fear tangible in the air as Sir Jeralt and the Knights lead them to the stables to dismount and dump their extra gear. _Something happened while we were away. Another attempted breaking and entering? A follow-up on the previous threat to Rhea's life? _

“Um, C-Claude?” Marianne whispered, walking over to him as he dismounted. “S-Something's wrong here...”

“Yeah, I can tell.” He said grimly. Bernadetta let out a low moan and immediately grabbed onto Byleth's arm for support as their professor came to join them. “I wonder if the Western Church is so overconfident they came back for a second go at it. Or maybe it's something else entirely.” He huffed out a dry laugh. “I think I'm starting to understand why Dadga uses the phrase 'may you live in interesting times' as a death threat.”

Byleth's lip twitched and she gave the thought a bemused nod. Clearly she'd heard that phrase used in that context before, quite possibly aimed at her.

“Byleth!” The four of them jolted at Sir Jeralt's voice; the giant of a man looked grim, even from the other side of the stable, and he pointedly gestured for her. “The Archbishop needs us right away. It's about a girl named Flayn.”

“Flayn?” Bernadetta mumbled as she was briskly but gently passed back over to Marianne.

Byleth's reaction was telling; she visibly paled, her dark blue eyes flashing first with alarm, then with worry. “Get everyone sorted out and wait for me in the classroom,” She told him, before spinning on her heel and sprinting to catch up with her father.

“Wait. Who's Flayn?” Raphael asked, popping up behind him. Claude didn't flinch, having heard his footsteps, though Marianne started in surprise.

“Seteth's little sister. Surely you've seen her flitting about the monastery?” Leonie said, hurrying after him. She was frowning intensely, her often serious expression set with concern. “We've gone fishing together a few times before. I hope she's alright...”

_Whatever's happened, she's probably not dead. Yet, anyway. _Claude grimaced at the thought. _None of the clergy in the courtyard were wearing mourning symbols. Flayn may not be ordained, but Seteth is, and he clearly raised her with the priesthood in mind. If she was dead, I don't doubt she'd be mourned the same way...and there's a lot of ceremony involved with putting a servant of the goddess to rest. There'd be some sign of it, even if she died just after we left for Duscur. _

“If they're keeping the children inside...do you think she's been kidnapped?” Annette asked in a hushed voice. Her eyes grew really wide. “Ah...there have been these horrible rumors of a Death Knight wandering around the villages in the middle of the night, stealing people away never to be seen again. You don't think that's why...?”

Bernadetta let out a fearful whine, wrapping her arms around her shoulders in an effort to keep from trembling too violently. “Oh no, oh no, oh no...” She mumbled in terror. “I heard that rumor too. It's said that he's death itself...!”

“What would anyone want with Flayn?” Ignatz wondered, stricken. “She's so kind and harmless...she's completely innocent. What could someone possibly want from her?”

_A pretty young girl vanishing from her home can mean a number of things; none of them are good, but some of them are mundane – if that's ever a good word to describe rape and/or murder with. _“I think if the Archbishop or Seteth suspect anything, we're going to find out as soon as they finish debriefing Teach.” Claude said decisively. “So let's finish getting organized and get back to the classroom. I don't think a low-key day of studying is in our future today."

His classmates accepted that and rushed to and fro in a whirlwind of activity; Annette told the rest of the Blue Lions of this and they took the same tact. Horses were stabled, extra equipment locked up in the Jeralt Mercenary's barracks, while weapons and artifacts discovered on the battlefield were almost universally placed with the blacksmith for repairs and sold to the local collector of gold and curiosities to bolster their individual allowances. (_His grandfather hadn't quite been stingy with what he'd allotted to his schooling, but he had a sneaking suspicion it was less than he would have gotten if he had been Godfrey's son.) _With that, the Blue Lions broke off – following a worried-looking Dimitri – to ask around about what had happened in their absence. Meanwhile, Marianne slipped off to see Bernadetta back to her room (_and, in all likelyhood, help her through the violent panic attack the purple-haired girl seemed to be teetering on the edge of_) while he and the rest headed back to the Golden Deer classroom.

“There you are, Claude.” Edelgard said mildly, catching his attention as the others went on ahead. The princess was standing with her arms crossed just outside the closed doors of the Black Eagles room, her expression as calculated as ever. “Here I thought your excursion meant that you would miss the excitement.”

“Is that what this is?” He asked dryly, walking over to meet her. “What in the eternal flames happened?”

“That's what we're trying to figure out,” Edelgard responded briefly and frankly. “Five days ago, Flayn didn't appear for breakfast. When she missed lunch and then dinner, Bishop Seteth went looking for her, and when it became clear she was gone, he sounded the alarm.”

“Have there been any demands?” Claude could imagine a few things Bishop Seteth might know or be adjacent to that an enemy would use extortion to gain quietly.

The princess shook her head. “None. And the initial investigation proved that she isn't the only person who has disappeared.” A troubled frown crossed her face. “There's no real pattern to it, except that everyone who vanished was vulnerable and vanished late at night. ...And in the last few days, one body has been discovered.”

“Seteth must be loosing his mind.” Even _that_ was probably an understatement.

* * *

_He was freezing, his clothes soaked to his skin. His ankle hurt from the initial fall, and his lungs hurt from coughing up water. The sun was going down, and he hadn't managed to find a familiar landmark within the forest the river ran through. How far had he been swept away? Where was he, wasn't anyone looking for him? Why hadn't his – no, they weren't his friends. They'd pushed him, they'd thrown him into the swollen rapids..._

_His heart ached horribly. _I won't cry. I am a prince of Almyra and a prince is never weak. _He repeated it to himself like a prayer, trying to ignore the chill settling into his bones and the pain. He tried to forget what _they _had said just before shoving him in. _

But why..._His eyes burned, and he stumbled over a tree root causing him to collapse on the ground. _Why is it not enough, why is it never enough, why do they hate me, what did I do wrong_... He curled up, wrapping his arms around himself, trembling with the force of his repressed sobs. _

“_...Khalid..! ...Khalid...! Claude!”_

_His head snapped up. “Mother?” He tried to call back, but his voice rasped and then broke causing him to cough violently. But he wouldn't give up. “Mother!” _

“_Claude?!” The nicker of a horse followed the shout, and it felt like a punch in the stomach how pathetically happy that made him – he pushed himself into a sitting position and cried out again, and again, until Karla came thundering down the winding pathway carrying his mother._

_Tiana von Riegan nearly fell from the back of her faithful horse, with how gracelessly she dismounted. Her face was red and streaked with tears, she took a few shaky steps before sliding to her knees and yanking him up into her arms. “Khalid, Claude, there you are, there you are...! Ah Sothis, thank you!” Her embrace was tight to the point of being painful, and she wept heavily and utterly without shame as she stroked his hair, repeating both his names in broken, choked noises of relief as she checked him for injuries. _

“_Mother, don't...” He tried to brush her tears away. They troubled him; this was his _mother, _his indomitable, fearless mother; it was wrong to see her so weak and shaken. _

_She shook her head, gently grasping his hand. “I've been looking for you for hours now, and when I couldn't...my little prince, never scare me like this again...” She shrugged her coat off and wrapped it tightly around him before pulling him into another hug. “Goddess help me, I may never let you leave my sight.”_

_He was too tired and cold to protest, to complain that he wasn't a baby, to do anything but hide in her warm, safe arms. _

* * *

“...certainly hasn't stopped searching himself,” Edelgard's voice snapped him out of his memories. “So far, no one can figure out where she might have been going when she was taken.”

“They don't think she was taken out of her bedroom?” Claude said, shaking his head slightly and forcing himself to concentrate. “Flayn doesn't strike me as much of a night owl, and she might be naive to an extent but she isn't stupid. Is everyone really sure she was wandering around in the middle of the night in the streets where other people have gone missing?”

Edelgard frowned a bit in thought. “There's no clear sign of her door being forced,” She said after a moment, “and no one near her remember any screaming or sounds of a struggle the previous night.”

_Which doesn't rule out the chance that someone slipped her a drug at dinner, probably a slow-acting sedative, and simply followed her around while waiting for it to kick in. If she was too tired to remember to lock her door, they could have just gone in, picked her up and carried her off with no one being the wiser. And even if the door was locked, that could be circumvented if they'd somehow had access to the keys... which, considering that the sacred mausoleum was broken into mere months ago, shouldn't be ruled out too quickly. _

“I hate not having much to go on,” He pronounced instead of voicing any of that. “By the time you've scraped together enough information to figure out what happened, a coin flip's chance says you're already too late to do a damn thing about it.”

“Well, those are the facts for now,” Edelgard responded with a distinctly unimpressed look. _Come on, princess. I've told you I'm liar; aren't you going to start being more skeptical about what I'm saying verses what I'm thinking? _“Hopefully that _coin _will come up favorably for Flayn. No girl deserves what so often happens when they 'disappear without a trace'.” There was something very dark in her violet eyes when she said that; cold, angry and predatory.

Claude's mind flickered back to stories about the Insurrection of the Seven, and how the Emperor's heirs had disappeared from the castle with seemingly no rhyme or reason just in time for the Lords to seize the moment and the powers the Emperor had been centralizing away from them. Of all the stories those Lords had presented about why that had been so – many of them depending entirely on the sickness and fits of madness that had plagued Ionius's children – he abruptly wondered if _any _of them had even a sliver of truth to them. “I agree,” he said quietly, seriously. “We'll find her.”

Her lip twitched. “You sound so certain.”

He smirked humorlessly back at her. “I'm always at my best when I've put all my concentration on a single end goal.”

Edelgard tilted her head. “Like befriending Dimitri?” She asked pointedly.

“Come now, princess,” Claude retorted with a hint of playfulness, “Why would such a simple task require extensive plotting on my behalf?”

The princess gave him a Look (which was different from the sort that Dimitri gave him, but significant enough to deserve the emphasis) and responded, “why indeed...”

“Claude,” He took Byleth calling his name as an excuse to bow out of the conversation; he wasn't sure he liked Edelgard's manufactured casual interest in his new relationship with Dimitri. Something about the way she said it, the way she frowned, seemed just on the edge of hostile.

He stowed those thoughts and concerns, however, as he entered the classroom and once again turned his attention to the main problem at hand...

“Our mission for this month is to find Flayn.” Byleth said quietly and seriously. She was leaning against her desk in the classroom, her students clustered in a circle around her. Virtually everyone looked worried, even though few of them knew Flayn very well; she was a sweet figure, easy to like even just in passing, and no one wanted anything horrible to befall her.

“Seteth must be worried sick,” Hilda muttered, tugging at one of her pigtails. “If I were to go missing, I can't imagine what that would do to my brother.”

_He'd probably tear the Alliance apart trying to find you, and heaven help anyone who tried to get in his way. _“When searching for something, it's best to start by gathering information.” Claude rubbed his forehead. “There has to be _someone _here who saw Flayn before she disappeared. We can work backwards from there to hopefully figure out who might have taken her...and to where.” _If we're lucky, _he noted bleakly. Five days was enough time to disappear from Garreg Mach and the surrounding territories entirely.

“There's something Annette said that's bothering me,” Lysithea said remotely. “She said that there's been rumors of a black knight wandering the streets in the night and attacking people. If we ask around and find that rumor goes back to the day the first person disappeared...”

“...Then we might have a working theory to consider,” Claude agreed with a scowl. _Rumors are rumors, but they tend to come from somewhere. _“There's only one 'black knight' that sticks out in _my _recent memory...but would he have stuck around this long?”

The question earned a series of worried grimaces from his classmates.

“In any case,” Byleth said softly, “I think we should use a similar system to the first time we turned the monastery inside-out looking for information. Don't go anywhere alone, and keep a wary eye out for anyone who's acting strangely.” There was a distinctly worried look in her eyes and a hesitance in her speech, stark enough that it was impossible to ignore. Both Hilda and Ignatz were looking strangely at her, so it was visible enough that not just he had noticed...

“Right.” He nodded. “You all heard Teach; c'mon, Hilda. Let's go find Professor Hannamen.”

It was a mark of how serious the situation was that Hilda just nodded, not even asking what he had in mind; just trusting him to know his way around. She'd been the closest thing he had to a real friend ever since he 'properly' came to Fodlan; since Byleth was going to investigate independently, the pinkette was and would always be his first choice.

They split up in pairs; Leonie with Lorenz, Ignatz with Raphael, Marianne with Lysithea, Cyril tagging along at Byleth's heels, all of them going in different floors and corners of the monastery. (Bernadetta was back in her room, a prisoner to her fears; Claude casually mentioned this to Alois knowing that the knight would keep an eye out for her even as he helped the search. Meanwhile, he juggled increasingly unpleasant theories as to _why _the diminutive archer was so terrified of...well...damn near everything, it seemed.)

They just needed to find one hint, a suggestion...anything they could turn into a lead.

* * *

“I can't say anything for certain, but I have my suspicions about Jeritza.”

Claude set his plate down on the table, twisting to stare at a more-serious-than-usual Felix. “What makes you say that?”

His mind's eye flickered back to the way the enigmatic man had been watching Byleth ever since she took up the sword of the creator. Always watching, always knowing exactly where she was, pale eyes unreadable but burning with intensity. Hilda batted at his hand, causing him to blink and realize his knuckles were turning white against his mug.

“There's something about the way he's handling his blade. It's more impulsive than usual,” Felix said, gesturing sharply with one hand. The blue-haired swordsman frowned contemplatively. “It couldn't hurt to try to speak to him, at least. At this hour, he should be at the training grounds or back at his quarters.”

Claude hummed, finished off his drink and put it down. “Right. Thanks, Felix.”

Felix's lips twitched. “Don't thank me until we find her.” There was an edge to his voice, but it was worry, not contempt, that lay underneath his grumpiness. _You wear your emotions on your sleeve far much much to make a good liar, Fraldarius. _

With a nod, Claude left the dining hall with Hilda at his heels.

The previous day had been exhausting; despite their best efforts, all they had to show for hours of careful searching was what had already been determined before they arrived back at the monastery. It seemed that everyone had seen Flayn out and about the day before she disappeared, seemingly perfectly at ease – she hadn't shown any anxious behavior or attempted to cling to someone only to be brushed off, nor had she disappeared for a noticeable stretch of time beforehand. Her room was immaculate, showing no signs of forced entry or having been ransacked in a struggle, and the servants swore blind that she had retired early to bed complaining about a mild headache. _That screamed either 'poison' or 'sleeping drug' as far as Claude was concerned, but Garreg Mach didn't see such drinks used in the regularity that Alliance nobility did – it was perfectly reasonable that the possibility hadn't occurred to the non-clerical staff in time. _No one could seem to recall anyone following Flayn around who wasn't essentially above suspicion – Hannamen had spent too long nagging Seteth about his and his sister's ancestry to not be an obvious suspect, and if _Sir Alois _was somehow involved with her disappearance, Claude would eat a week straight of Hilda's cooking and nothing else.

This meant that Flayn's kidnapper had both been in the monastery for quite some time, and that the kidnapping was too methodically and carefully planned to be the spur-of-the-moment decision of a spree killer. Cyril suggested that the culprit could be an agent of the Western Church, but Claude doubted that; Rhea had been a bit _too _thorough in her shakedown of the closest regions the branch operated in. For the Western Church to be able to seize and bring Flayn somewhere completely within their power, the kidnapper would have to take her far to the north to just west of _The Silver Maiden_ – a month-long journey, if you were pushing it. Too many chances for Flayn to fall violently ill, to slip away, for someone on the road to notice she wasn't following her captor willingly.

Which – again – probably wouldn't have mattered to a spree killer who merely planned to kill her, dump the corpse somewhere mildly inconspicuous, and then vanish into the mist. But the sheer amount of careful planning that went into such a flawlessly executed kidnapping suggested something more methodical and long-reaching than an impulsive end such as that.

Though...there was a chance there was some overlap there.

The rumors of the reaper wandering the streets of the towns within walking distance of the monastery were as disturbing as they were surreal. No one knew what the 'knight' looked like, other than that he was figure clad completely in black who initially seemed like a spiritually disturbed wanderer...until approached. The knight had attacked multiple people – seemingly without any rhyme or reason – and was seen vanishing from the streets while carrying someone by one fortunate (or unfortunate) street urchin he'd overlooked. Since several people had disappeared in the weeks since the first sighting of the specter, most people agreed that he'd done this more than once – and had killed at least one person.

And that unlucky young man had not died well.

“I don't like this,” Claude muttered, pushing the doors to the main hall open.

“You keep saying that,” Hilda commented a bit tiredly. “I mean, I agree with you, but you're getting a little redundant now Claude.”

“There should be _something _hinting at what happened to her,” Claude said in frustration. “Garreg Mach isn't exactly sparsely populated; there's no way _no one _saw a distinctive figure like this 'death knight' walking off with an unconscious Flayn. Even if she wasn't awake to kick and scream and make a fuss, it would seem strange wouldn't it?”

“Definitely, but if he left with her late enough, he might have been able to slip past most of the guards. Security is lighter in the evenings just by virtue of the timing.” Hilda twisted a stand of hair between her fingers. “Still, you're right. It doesn't make sense that he could do this without making _someone _suspicious of him. He has to have worked in the monastery.”

“And he probably has help,” Claude added, sighing heavily. “Though we're not likely to find out who that is even when we find Flayn. At least, not now.” _If I'm right, and they're the same individual who leaked our and Catherine's position to Lord Lonato as well as slipping those Western Church priests and mercenaries into the Holy Mausoleum... they're pretty well entrenched. It'll take a particularly clever scheme to trick them out into the open. _

“Well, we do know something,” Hilda pointed out with a hint of optimism. “They can't have taken Flayn far from the monastery – if they took her away at all. That narrows it down quite a bit.”

“Hopefully,” He murmured, mostly to himself.

They were about halfway down the hall when a distracted Dorothea crashed straight into Hilda, nearly sending both girls to the floor in an awkward heap. _(possibly more awkward than usual, given Dorothea's open affection for both genders and the occasional looks Hilda sent Marianne's way.) _“Oh, sorry Hilda!” The songstress babbled apologetically, stumbled back a few steps and awkwardly straightening her clothes. “I really didn't mean to – ah, I'm sorry, I was completely lost inside my own head.”

Hilda straightened back up, shooting Claude a thankful smile as he withdrew his steadying hand. “Everybody's running around at the moment,” she said lightly. “What's the matter, Dorothea? Have you heard something?”

“Oh no, unfortunately. I was looking for Manuela – I saw her run off in a terrible hurry, and I thought she might have found out something. Didn't manage to keep up with her, though.”

_Out of all people...Professor Manuela found something first?! _“Do you have any idea where she was headed?” Claude asked quickly.

Dorothea shook her head, looking vexed. “No! I tried to call after her, but I don't think she heard me.” She frowned. “She was carrying something, though. It looked like a white half mask. I wonder where-?”

“A white half mask?” Claude repeated sharply, his heart skipping a beat. “You're sure?”

The songstress blinked, taken aback. “I, yes – I think so. I mean, it was either that or a white porcelain bowel, and I'm not sure what she would have found out with that...”

“And how many people here wear masks?” Claude muttered before turning on his heels. “Hilda, go find Teach and the others, tell them to go to Professor Jeritza's quarters. I've got a bad feeling about this!”

“R-Right – hey! Don't do anything stupid without us, okay?!” The pinkette demanded before he could slip off back the way he came. “We want _in _on any stupidity!”

He made himself smile for her and gave her a little mock salute of acknowledgment. It was a good thing he had so much practice; his heartbeat was pounding in his ears and it was entirely possible that this would be a dead end; and if it wasn't...

_Jeritza's fighting style had always struck him as _odd_; it wasn't until he'd started fixating on Byleth and he saw them training together that the reason for the oddness finally hit home. It wasn't that the man was overly fixated on being technical as he'd originally thought; no, it was extremely _controlled –_ similar to Dimitri; no, worse than him. Jeritza was fighting the urge to lash out, to strike his opponent down; he was a lion pacing angrily inside a small cage, constantly agitated by its restrictions. _

Professor Manuela was a mage. Her ability to swing a sword came largely from previous theater productions. She knew a bit of black magic, but even then her innate magical _talent _was limited – utterly unlike Marianne or Lysithea. She wore no armor – not even leather.

Claude ran, sparing only a moment to be grateful that Byleth had insisted that they all carry their best weapon with them.

* * *

He made it just past the Knights Hall when he heard the woman's scream.

_Damn it! _

Claude ran up to the open door to Jeritza's quarters, bow in hand, and stepped inside. He wasn't sure what he'd expected – whether Jeritza would try and flee, stay and prepare to fight now that he knew he'd been discovered, or some other option he hadn't devoted enough brainpower to consider – but the room he stumbled into was empty except for broken plaster, a bookcase set widely askew, and Manuela collapsed on the carpet in a growing pool of her own blood. An ugly gash several inches long had been carved into her side just above her hip, and worse, the blade had been torn out at an angle – ripping the wound open further.

“Professor Manuela...” A rapid look around the room showed no sign of Jeritza, though he'd clearly been there. The mask lay on the floor several feet away from the woman. Seeing no enemies, Claude quickly put his weapon down and knelt by his teacher's side, tearing off part of her long sleeve to staunch the wound. “Hey, can you hear me?!”

The woman stirred and looked blearily at him; her eyes were hazed over with pain and despite blinking repeatedly she couldn't seem to focus on his face. Claude cursed quietly; there was enough blood soaking the fur beneath them to tell him she was in shock. She couldn't tell him what she'd figured out in this state...and she faced a very real threat of bleeding to death with a wound that big. _First time I've actively cursed my utter magical ineptitude, _he thought bitterly. _Ah, where are you, Teach?!_

“Down...”

“What?” He muttered, not really looking up from applying pressure to her wound. Blood seeped under his fingernails and dried there, soaking through the cloth in moments.

“...went...down...” Manuela's shaky hand reached up and grasped feebly at his arm. “...he took...her down...”

“He took her? So Jeritza was the one to take Flayn?” He asked urgently.

Manuela's hand squeezed as tightly as she could manage. Her eyes flickered around him and flared intensely. “...Down there...look...”

Claude blinked and looked up a bit; Manuela's free hand was pointing shakily to the far end of the room, where the bookcase sat out of place. He leaned forward just a bit, frowning as he tried to figure out what looked odd about that...

“Is that what I think it is?” He breathed when his eyes finally focused on what she was referring to – a massive hole in the wall, enough for a person could walk through if they ducked a bit. “Hilda was right. He didn't leave the monastery.”

A horde of footsteps had never brought him so much relief. “Claude! What's – ah!” Was that Annette? Huh, that wasn't quite what he expected. “Professor Maneula?! Are you okay? Professor Manuela!” A shadow passed over him; then Teach sank down next to him, gently tapping his hand as warm white light spread out from her wrists. Relieved, he retreated and left the healing to her, grabbing his bow off the floor.

“Tell Felix the Garreg Mach staff owe him a drink,” He told the orangette with a levity he didn't feel. Marianne stepped away from a horror-struck Ashe to assist Byleth; Ignatz was pale as a ghost and shaking, while Dedue looked grim. Hilda appeared in the doorway moments later, Raphael and Lysithea on her heels. The white haired girl's hands immediately went to her mouth when she saw Professor Manuela on the floor. “Jeritza was the one who kidnapped Flayn; took her down that passageway.” He pointed just past the bookcase.

Byleth looked up, lifting her hands and frowning gravely. Between her and Marianne, the older woman's wound was healed, but it left a pretty nasty-looking scar, and she had passed out while her two juniors tended to her. “Is that right?,” She said, her soft voice cool as a winter wind. “That explains a fair bit. They were keeping her right underneath her brother's feet.”

There was an undercurrent to her voice that he'd never heard from her before... and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hannamen's voice joined the worried babble that instantly broke out in the room. Claude turned toward the older man; there was a very telling look in his eyes when he looked down upon Manuela's prone form. “What? M-Manuela?!” _That look_ lingered across his face for a second longer, then logic returned with a rush and he turned toward Claude. “We need to take her to the infirmary. Don't just stand there, help me carry her!”

“R-Right, right” Claude said, swallowing over a bolt of utter frustration. “Hold down the fort for me Teach. I'll be back once we've gotten Professor Manuela taken care of.”

Byleth hummed in response. Claude slung his bow over his shoulder and grabbed Manuela's legs while Hannamen slid an arm under her shoulders. Together they lifted her up, _if you were a few years younger you could have done this yourself. Or asked Dedue! Well, she's not _that _heavy...it shouldn't take us too long to get her settled. _Somewhat morbidly, he remembered something Manuela said after being defeated in the mock battle – about nearly ending up a patient in her own infirmary. _Life is in love with its bad jokes, isn't it? _

The trek back through the entrance hall and up the stairs felt like it went on forever. Claude resisted the urge to complain and did his best to stomp on the nagging voice in his head that was warning him of what might happen if Jeritza's ally decided their position would be more secure if they got rid of the remaining evidence.

Corpses told no tales...even if Flayn hadn't seen anything that would point them at the truth, they might simply decide it was more expedient to have her dead. And killing her would thoroughly demoralize Seteth, who Rhea clearly trusted and relied on in many things...

It was embarrassing to admit that he nearly dumped Manuela on the bed in his need to get back to the room where his classmates were gathering. He waited just long enough to make sure she was comfortable, _then _he took off, not waiting to explain much of anything to Hannamen despite the latter's protests and belated request for an explanation as he hurtled out the door, taking his bow back in hand.

He nearly crashed into Dimitri when he jumped the last steps to the first floor. “You've found who took Flayn?” The prince said urgently.

“It was Jeritza,” Claude said briefly, only pausing briefly to check his momentum before running back the way he came. Fortunately Dimitri was of a like mind, and he easily kept up – lance in hand. “He stabbed Professor Manuela after she found the hidden passageway in his quarters. Teach and the others are waiting there, hopefully we'll catch him and get Flayn back in one fell swoop.”

“Good,” Dimitri said shortly, an edge of anger in that one word saying everything he thought about this revelation and Flayn's disappearance.

However...making it back to Jeritza's quarters revealed an empty room. Claude skidded to a halt, staring at the bare walls in bewilderment...until he realized he could hear faint sounds – the crashing of steel and shouted commands – coming from the passageway.

_They left without me, _he thought stupidly, a mix of bewilderment, indignation and unhappiness swamping his mind. _Why? _

“Claude,” Dimitri said urgently, putting a hand on his arm. “Are you ready to fight?”

He gave his head a violent shake. “Yeah,” he managed. “Let's go.”

Dimitri gave him a reassuring smile before ducking into the passage, leading the way through the darkness as Claude tailed him. As they drew closer, the voices grew louder, along with the sounds of battle – and then there was something above all the rest –

“_**One of us will live. One of us will die. I will enjoy this dance of damnation.**_”

“...Very well,” Claude's heart leapt into his throat at Byleth's cold, confident voice answered that grating, demonic snarl. He and Dimitri rushed down the last few steps until they came into the torchlight. There was an elaborate system of passageways there, and other fights going on at the moment, but what held the eye was the familiar monstrous figure of a black knight wielding a black scythe that glowed with a sickly gray light. And standing across from him was Byleth, standing with the Sword of the Creator pointed at her opponent's chest. Behind her was Marianne, cradling a very pale and limp Flayn in her arms.

The other thing he could see...was that Byleth was battered and bloodied. Not so different from just after she'd shoved him out of the way of Miklan's tail. And there was blood on the edge of the knight's scythe... “So be it,” His teacher said, her eyes narrowed into slits.

Claude's hands shook on his bow. He tried to tell himself it was from the run, but the icy chill that flooded him when the enemy knight charged forward killed that lie in its bed.

_Teach...!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First cliffhanger of the story! Haven't done that in a while. (grins) 
> 
> Yes, I know Claude (and Dimitri) are technically supposed to miss out on this chapter, but I feel like it makes some sense that since everyone is looking for Flayn it would be a mix of Deer and Lions who came upon the injured Manuela and the hidden passageway - and that it wouldn't take Claude so long to get Manuela to the infirmary that he would miss the ENTIRE fight. That, and Drama. 
> 
> The fight has been going on for a bit, now. You'll see what he missed next time with Byleth :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth embarks on a rescue mission. Her increasing flashes of emotion are both a help and a hindrance.

“What should we do, Professor?” Ignatz asked worriedly.

Byleth eyed the medium-sized hole in the wall balefully as she got to her feet. Even without turning around, she could feel all of the students staring raptly at her, prepared to act in whatever way she thought was most prudent. She bit her lip, resenting Hannamen for dragging Claude away right when she needed his attentive genius the most. Because what _should _they do? Wait for him and the Knights to join them, risking Jeritza killing Flayn and any other victims he was keeping down there to hide the reason for the abductions? Or should she take her students and rush after them, throwing themselves headlong into a fight against a foe they knew little about – along with any potential traps and allies of his that might be lurking within the hidden passageway?

She growled low in her throat. Previous experiences screamed that she needed to rush it, regardless of potential traps, or face the overwhelming likelihood that Jeritza would slit Flayn's throat – whether to keep her quiet or simply to spite them for catching him, it didn't matter. If he didn't kill her, there was also the possibility that there was a way out of the monastery somewhere below that he could try and take her though. Their best – perhaps _only _hope – of getting Flayn back was to run after him _now _and force a confrontation.

...Even though it meant leading her still-somewhat-inexperienced students in blind to face an unknown enemy, _and _lacking her best marksman and fellow warrior...

Her hand tightened on the hilt of the Sword of the Creator. _I have Sothis's gift, _she reminded herself. _I can't afford to think of Divine Pulse as a crutch, but it is a tool; and a valuable weapon to get Flayn back to her brother..._ “I think we need to go down there now,” She said firmly, turning to face the gathered students. “Dedue, Annette, Ashe, go and find Dimitri...”

“But we can help!” Ashe protested, sliding his bow off his shoulder and adjusting the belt of his quiver. “It'll be dangerous in the tunnels, Professor.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Byleth responded, uncertain if she was exasperated or touched by his knee-jerk reaction. “But we need to let people know what we've found out and where we're going. We can't wait for the knights to join us; Jertiza knows he has been found out, and we cannot risk him deciding to eliminate his victims out of spite.”

“I will go,” Dedue responded stoically. His eyes swept over Ashe and Annette, a little uneasy yet visibly reconciling himself to his decision, then declared simply, “A message can be carried by one man. You, however, should go to Flayn's side with all the aid available to you.”

“That's right!” Annette said fiercely. “Maybe I'm not as tough as Lysithea -” The white-haired girl looked startled at the admission “-but I can heal and I can knock soldiers around with wind. Let me help! We have to get Flayn back!”

“...Thank you,” Byleth breathed, a knot of _something _indescribable forming in her stomach at the implicit gesture of trust the other teens were offering her. She glanced between Ashe and Annette; both of them smiled bravely and nodded. “Remember to be careful.” Then she spun on her heels, taking in Hilda and Ignatz and the others, then barked out, “Let's go,” and ducked into the low-hanging passageway in the broken wall.

She was immediately plunged into near-complete blackness. Without the torches at the far end of the passageway providing the dimmest of light to follow, she wouldn't have been able to see past the end of her nose – much less where she was put her feet. After about a minute of stumbling on fairly smooth ground, she nearly tumbled forward when the rocky ground turned gave way into a steep staircase descending directly down. She placed a hand against a wall, momentarily lamenting that neither Marianne nor Lysithea had any magic torches left over from their mission at Magdred way. “Watch your step,” She warned her students, cautiously taking another step, then another with her hand tracing the stone maintaining her sense of balance.

“It's r-really dark in here,” Ignatz whimpered somewhere behind her as the light from the upper room slowly dissolved as they descended out of its reach.

“Don't be a coward, Ignatz,” Hilda chided from directly at Byleth's back, though her voice was not completely devoid of sympathy. “The Professor's with us.”

The Ashen Demon pressed her nails into her palm, and tried to figure out why that complete confidence made her hands tremble. Dimitri's words about her feeling responsible for her students and his friends seem to echo in the darkness as she descended. Finally she wondered if the tightness in her throat and in her chest was fear...Her blood spiked, and she stumbled on a particularly steep step. “Be careful,” She said – to whom, she wasn't sure; she heard Ashe yelp a moment ago, but Raphael caught him – as her eyes were drawn to the glowing orange light growing in size as they drew closer and closer to it.

“This is so weird...there's this much space below the monastery?” Lysithea mumbled.

“Didn't Claude say something about that?” Ashe asked in turn. “I heard him talking to one of the monks in the cathedral some time ago; apparently no one really remembers anything about how the building was constructed or why anything was added. The man couldn't say much more than that...but if there were always tunnels and such within Garreg Mach, then it makes sense that the Western Church could use them to slip in...even before this.”

“Shhh,” Byleth hushed them, though she spent a second to be both bemused by and grateful for Claude's constant curiosity. There were sounds drifting up the empty stairwell, something other than the muffled apologies and footsteps behind her.

Shouting, cursing. Many footsteps, all echoing in the high ceiling and empty tunnels of the underground. The professor was seized with the sudden, irrational desire to echo Claude's artificially offhanded remark about living in interesting times; there were _multiple _enemies down there, not just Jeritza. _Because of course there were! _How in the blazing eternal flames was there half a company's worth of enemies loitering around right under the noses of everyone in Garreg Mach?! And more importantly, why?! What purpose did that serve?!

Using tunnels to subvert castle defenses was an old standby, yes, but who in the wide world would invade a _church_?

_Woolgathering, _Byleth told herself sharply. Light from the torches below was growing brighter, casting pale orange streaks across the gray, moss riddled stone steps and dirty, dusty walls. _Find Flayn first, ask questions afterwards. Preferably aiming them at one or three of the abductors down there. _

“Get ready,” She ordered as the light grew brighter by their descent. She heard Hilda suck in a deep breath and the _clink _of the pinkette's reinforced iron ax banging against the wall as she took it off her back. Annette murmured something to Raphael Byleth didn't catch; Ashe prayed to the goddess for guidance and protection, and Ignatz made a noise that was a bizarre mix of relief and trepidation. Byleth let out a breath and drew the Sword of the Creator. _Strange as it was, despite the fact she'd had the blade for just over a month, it felt like an extension of her arm. _The light at the bottom grew brighter and brighter until her feet hit the bottom of the stairs and she exited into the chamber below.

The sight was...honestly, it was about as large as the Holy Masoleum, but far stranger. The room was massive, lit only by a series of torches and strange patches of green light spread out sporadically...most of which seemed to come from the floor rather than the walls. As Byleth walked out onto the moss-covered floor (_this room didn't see much use or maintenance. Was this one of the 'secrets' that Claude alluded to when he directed us to that passageway back then?_), she saw a yellowish glow rising from the floor just in front of a brick wall. Squinting at it revealed what seemed to be a circular panel with odd letters and symbols surrounding it. There was low light, but it wasn't so hard to see as a foggy forest rendered muddy by rain. Nothing her students would be crippled by.

To the right of the hallway, away from the dead end and the yellow light, was a chamber where a number of archers and swordsmen were standing. Byleth squinted in the low light, frowning. They weren't dressed as mercenaries, their armor was too uniform for that. They wore primarily red, one of the colors of the Empire, but...well, it was hard to tell at this distance, but it didn't look like they wore any of the royal symbols – and why would soldiers of the Empire be here? _But if they all bear the same armor, that means they serve the same master. Who is Jeritza to have people like this down in his spider hole? _She couldn't think of an answer; that worried her.

_Flayn must be somewhere in the labyrinth,_Sothis cautioned. _We must find her before they try to escape...or silence her. _

_What if they kill her when they hear us coming?, _Byleth worried as the last of her students left the stairwell and surrounded her.

_Mmmm, I believe that malcontent Vestra was right, tactless though he might have been,_Sothis acknowledged rather begrudgingly. _Flayn was taken alive for a purpose. If they have not gained everything they need from her, they cannot afford to kill her. _

_I hope you're right, _Byleth thought, a keening pain in her chest.

“Ugh, it's so dark...and it smells funny.” Hilda grumbled. “What do you suppose that thing is, Professor?” She pointed her ax toward the yellow circle.

“I don't know,” Byleth admitted, frowning at it. “I've never seen anything like it.” Something _itched _at the back of her mind, but she dismissed it – now wasn't the time.

Ashe tilted his head at it. “They wouldn't be here if they didn't do something.” He rubbed his neck, his brow furrowed in thought. “This is a labyrinth, isn't it? I wonder...” He smiled suddenly, like a light had gone off in his mind. “That's right! There was a story I read some time ago about something like this; a hero was delivered to an evil king as tribute for a previous perceived slight against him; he was sent into a labyrinth that contained a powerful demonic beast.”

“Er, that's nice Ashe, but what does that have to do with anything?” Lysithea asked, glaring warily at the patrolling soldiers.

“Everything,” Ashe responded earnestly before pointing at the yellow circle. “The labyrinth was full of magical traps that moved the hero to different hallways whenever he stepped on one; it was why no one had escaped the labyrinth before. He was able to find the right path because – oh, that part can probably wait. That _looks _like a dead end or a wall, but what if it isn't? What if that's a magic circle like from the story?”

Annette's eyes widened. “Oh...! I've never heard about anything like that being used, but if this place is old and mysterious...should we check?”

Ashe gave Byleth an earnest look. When she frowned in concern, he appealed by saying, “The more spread out we are, the faster we'll find Flayn.”

Internally, Byleth squirmed with discomfort. _I don't want you going where I can't see you, _she wanted to protest. But the logic was completely sound, and frankly something she would have suggested herself if she'd had the mind to. She stared at Ashe for a moment, looking at his straight back and the bow he held in a steady hand...and knew that this wasn't the same lightly-educated boy who had followed her to Magdred Way. Exhaling, she said, “Go have a look. Annette, Leonie, Raphael...get ready to follow him.”

Annette nodded, skittering along at Ashe's heels as the gray-haired boy approached the circle. She knew how to heal; Byleth had been a little surprised to see that, and the mage girl had cheerfully told her that seeing the professor's proficiency in keeping her allies healed and healthy had inspired her to take up studying faith magic. It made the little group safer even though they wouldn't have a dedicated healer like Marianne.

Ashe cautiously stepped onto the circle. The light flared up, surrounding him entirely. Ashe flinched slightly but didn't react with pain; a moment later, there was a strange _pop, _and then he vanished in the blink of an eye.

Byleth blinked in disbelief. _Was that...Warp? A Warp spell bound to a floor tile?!_

Hilda let out a startled, completely understandable shriek that nevertheless finally drew the attention of the soldiers at the far end of the hall.

Byleth swore in High Almyran – which earned her a very startled and confused look from Lorenz – and gave Annette a little shake to break her out of her shock. “Get going,” She hissed at Raphael next, pushing him toward Annette. “Leonie, you're in charge over there. Be careful!”

“Got it,” The archer promised, flashing her a confident smirk that dripped with battle fever. Then she stepped onto the pad herself and vanished from sight.

Byleth turned then, that same strange _feeling _twisting in the bottom of her gut. She hoped they wouldn't find themselves immediately ambushed upon arrival. _And what are those things...by what magic can they – ah, it doesn't matter now! _“Get ready!” She ordered her students, drawing the sword of the creator. “Finding Flayn is your primary objective – and don't get separated!”

She twisted her wrist and swung the sword at the archer setting up to shoot at Lysithea. The blazing blade tore the bow in half and embedded itself at the bottom of the enemy's throat. Byleth winced at the gurgling noise they made before slumping to the ground. _W-What is this? Nausea? I don't understand...I never had such a reaction in a fight – except for - _

“Professor, be careful!” Hilda's voice jolted her; seconds later, a hand ax whipped past her head an slammed into the swordsman who'd been rushing straight at her.

“Thank you,” She said automatically before giving her head a firm shake. _What is happening to me? _

Marianne grimaced as she raised her hand, the glittering blue dust of Blizzard swirling around her wrist. “I'm sorry,” She whispered before casting. The ice blast struck one archer on the knee and froze his boot to the floor; which made for a wince-inducing noise when he collapsed but couldn't quite move his leg in time. Hilda took a split second to pat her friend on the arm before launching herself forward and bringing her ax down on a swordsman via a powerful overhead swing. Unlike a similar incident in the red canyon, she wrenched her weapon free of her victim's skull with only a slight whine of discomfort. Lorenz darted ahead – _what happened to my order to stick together?, _Byleth though with a twinge of a hot feeling that was far from odd bubbly sensation her students usually gave her – and knocked the final archer down with a fireball, forcing his way into the first chamber. Muttering dire, dire threats about what she would do to his training schedule if he started actively disobeying her, Byleth swung an arm to the others and followed hot on the pompous mage's heels.

The room wasn't very big – in fact it was roughly the same size as the golden deer classroom, with a few pillars, moss and the varying signs of a place that had been left to decay being recently and rapidly re-purposed for a new keeper. The light was still low, and there didn't seem to be any of those bizarre warp tiles about...

Lysithea hovered about her shoulder and pointed forward. Byleth looked ahead and frowned. There was a narrow entrance into another small room, and beyond that...an iron gate. _It would just figure I sent Ashe the other way, _she thought ruefully. _Well, the gates are guarded by an armor knight, two mages, and an archer. Hopefully one of them has the keys on them, or else we'll have to waste precious time forcing them open..._

Lorenz charged to the mouth of the entrance way, meeting another sword wielding myrmidon and defeating her after a struggle that brought them back a few steps. He was several yards ahead of the rest of them, and he turned after defeating his opponent as if he was going to wave to an opera audience. _What am I going to do with him?_

_Byleth, look at the wall there, _Sothis cautioned._ There are arrow slits!_

_Thank you! _“Lorenz, get back here!” She barked.

The mage knight wheeled around, stepping just far enough to the right that his confused “Professor, I am more than capa-” broke off into a startled cry when the arrow hit him mid-arm instead of in the chest. Byleth dropped the Sword, slung her bow off of her back and fired back at the arrow slit. Perhaps Sothis was guiding her arm, because there was a telltale shriek of pain despite the low light interfering with her sight.

“Hilda, take this,” Byleth urged, throwing the pinkette the mace she'd gotten off one of the fallen soldiers. “Marianne needs cover to work.” Hilda winked before darting forward to meet the armor knight charging toward Lorenz. Marianne slid forward and began examining the arrowhead while the sound of armor bending and crunching rang through the air. “Ignatz, take the archer on the left.” The diminutive knight-to-be nodded and raised the gift she'd offered him after passing his intermediate exam – a smaller, lightweight bow that allowed him to attack faster and do more damage in spite of his weaker frame. He fired twice while Byleth dipped to the right, taking aim again as the mage's partner threw fire at her

Two arrows to the throat. The woman dropped dead. _Huh. I aimed for the throat on instinct. I...hadn't noticed I was doing that. Have I just incapacitated a single person since I started? I usually... _She shook her head, again. _Well, these are kidnappers, and may well be slavers. I've always made an exception for them unless ordered otherwise. Nothing odd about that. _

Her stomach must be a hot, twisty mess due to that stupid arrow slit she'd failed to notice. _You'd think I would have learned after that nightmare at Conand Tower... _

“I distinctly recall telling everyone not to run ahead and separate themselves from the others,” She said icily when turning back toward Lorenz. Marianne had gotten the arrow out and fixed him, though with markedly less ease than Mercedes would have managed with her Crest. “Did I stutter?” Ignatz's foe fell with a chopped off scream that made her want to cringe.

“Professor, I was merely-”

“-disobeying me when we're facing enemies we know next to nothing about, on their turf, in low light?” Byleth cut him off ruthlessly, her eyes narrowing. “That's precisely what you did.”

“I – was aware, but I believed that-”

“I am aware of your..._compunction _to prove yourself, regardless of its senselessness,” Byleth said flatly, sliding her foot under the Sword's hilt and kicking it up into her hand. The gesture made Lorenz flinch. “Let me make one thing clear, Lorenz. I can barely tolerate you constantly undermining command when you do it to Claude. I _will not _tolerate you doing the same to me, _especially not right now_. I do not have the time to give you a proper lecture, so either you tell me now that you will hold the rearguard until we find Flayn or _you will go back upstairs and wait for the knights to appear_. What will it be?”

Lorenz's mouth opened and shut a few times as he stared at her, cheeks flushed with shock and humiliation. Byleth felt a twinge of something confusing that she harshly dismissed; the sooner this message stuck, the better. “I...will keep up the rear, as you wish Professor.” The purple haired boy managed at last.

“Good,” Byleth spun on her heel and walked over to the mage. “Check to see if any of them have door keys. Hurry. If we have to force the gates, we'll need every spare second.”

Ignatz, who had been staring at her while she disciplined Lorenz, jumped, nodded rapidly and mumbled, 'o-of course, I'm sorry professor', and rushed back to the mage he'd downed. Hilda stared at her, head tilted, before kneeling next to the downed armored knight. Byleth exhaled slowly and then went to her own opponent and ruffling through her pockets.

Nothing...nothing...a handful of gold coins...the emblem of House Vestra's mage court...? _Oh, I do not like that...wait. It's scorched and cracked. Isn't that how the Empire marks dishonorable discharge from the army? Yes, that's right...I've seen this before. That would explain it; she must have been picked up as competent muscle. _No keys, unfortunately. Maybe the sword could take the door apart in the least amount of -

“Got it!” Hilda cheered, startling her. Byleth straightened up to see the pinkette cheerfully waving a ring containing multiple keys above her head. Her never-ending, if often inappropriate for the field, upbeat attitude was oddly relief-inducing in that moment. “I think we caught them during a patrol shift. Good luck for us!”

“That's great,” Byleth responded with a rueful smile before turning her attention to the gate. There was a lot of shouting now, some distant and floating from the far end of the labyrinth where Ashe, Leonie and the others were undoubtedly raising havoc – _I hope they're okay _a stay thought whispered – while the more immediate came from the other side of the gate. Two armored knights, another archer...and unless the light was playing tricks on her, there was another gate _and _arrow slits in the far wall. She would have to be careful where she had Lysithea and Marianne go... “Lysithea, go and help Hilda with those two.”

The white haired girl nodded, though she gave Byleth a somewhat odd look for a second. Shifting her weight, Byleth slung her bow back over her shoulder and shifted her grip on the Sword so she was holding it properly again.

“How are you, Marianne?” She asked the mage girl, who seemed a bit shaken. Her clothes were a bit burnt too. “Are you hurt at all?”

“N-No,” Marianne shook her head. Byleth noted, a bit troubled, that she said that despite having heavy shadows under her eyes...the same shadows that she always seemed to have whenever her teacher took a close look at her. Did she have the sleepless sickness? _Ah, a question for later_. “I was just g-grazed. Have you been injured, Professor?”

“Not yet.” She did her best to give Marianne a reassuring smile. It felt awkward on her face, and she wished once again – with a stabbing sense of aggravation – that Claude was here with them. But it seemed to comfort the blue haired girl nonetheless, since she stood up a bit straighter in response.

The crackling of fire and the horrid stench of burning flesh drew her attention back to the front. Hilda let out a gleeful sound as she twisted one of the keys in the lock and forced the door open; Lysithea shook her wrist, attention riveted to the unpleasant sight that was the armor knight she'd just defeated – by superheating and partially _melting_ his armor around him. _Seventh hell, she's powerful. That much heat from just a regular fire spell... _

She grasped Lysithea's shoulder, shaking her out of the spell. _Just keep moving, _she urged the younger girl silently. _You did what you had to. Don't dwell on it. _

“You're making me _work_,” Hilda groused...rather an underreaction to the arrow that had just hit her in the side, but it didn't impede her from darting forward and slamming the mace into the archer's face. There was a sharp flare of emerald green light – a quick flicker of a symbol – and the unforged weapon took the man's head clean off, sending it spinning into the dark. Hilda staggered a step back afterwards. “Uuughh...” She doubled over, leaning heavily on the wall. “That...sucked...”

“Be careful, Hilda!” Ignatz warned, hurrying forward and taking a potshot through the bars of the gate. Byleth heard a shout from the other side, but no indication of a body hitting the floor. _Must have dodged. _

Hilda threw up in response – whether from the pain or the fact she'd just singlehadedly knocked a man's head off (or both) didn't really matter – and her face was turning dangerously gray. Cursing, Byleth directed Marianne over to her friend and gently took the keys from her shaking student. “You did well,” She promised.

She walked a few feet forward and nearly caught a Miasma spell to the face; only Lysithea's timely yell of warning saved her a blistering injury. _Yet another _iron-wrought gate had been hiding in the darkness, and on the other side was yet another knight in heavy armor accompanied by a dark mage along with a regular fire caster. It seemed like a sealed off room; if this was where they were keeping Flayn...

“Lysithea? I've got an idea,” She said when she straightened up on the other side of the door. The younger girl nodded, eyes bright and alert. 'Do you think you can fire a spell from directly behind me without hitting me? When I raise my arm?' She signed carefully. It was her father who suggested she teach her students some sign language, just for situations like this. She'd only started a little while ago, but if there was anyone who might understand...it would be her. The white haired girl worked so hard...

Lysithea's brow furrowed heavily for a moment; then she nodded sharply in understanding. Byleth felt a light, warm sense of – relief? Admiration? She wasn't sure...

_Woolgathering, _Sothis reminded her. Byleth let out a breath, nodded to Lysithea, and stepped in front of the gate again. Sure enough, the fire caster stepped forward and lashed out with a spell. Whatever instinct the sword – or perhaps her Crest of Flames – had provided her when she first picked the weapon up struck again, and she sliced through the flames, dissipating them. Then she raised her arm up, as if to bring the sword down on the gate itself -

-Just in time for Luna to graze her coat, slam through the bars and strike the man in the chest. The flickering full moon seemed to consume the man in silver-black light, and he vanished without a sound – as if he'd never existed at all.

Then, while the other two occupants were reeling, Byleth brought the Sword down with the power of her Crest behind it. The blade tore through the iron hinges as though it were no more than wet parchment, and the impact knocked the door back and onto the floor, forcing the dark mage to skitter backwards.

Behind them, Byleth heard a telltale dying shriek, the voice too old to belong to any of her students. She pointed at the man in armor before letting the Sword of the Creator loose; it cut through the dark mage's miasma to imbed itself in his stomach. Lysithea wasted no time disposing of the armored man, this time blasting her enemy with Seraphim. It knocked him flat, allowing Byleth entrance into the room.

She strained her eyes in the dark...only a green warp tile provided any respite. There was no sign of Flayn...but there was a young girl tied up in a corner, probably no more than thirteen. Byleth vaguely recognized her as one of Anna's many orphan helpers, who she so often saw feeding and playing with the cats in the courtyard. Quickly she stepped over the mage's corpse and knelt in front of the girl. She took out a knife to cut the ropes and then gently shook the girl awake; the tiny brunette looked up at her with bleary eyes that took a moment to focus and recognize her. “It's okay,” Byleth murmured, casting Heal on the rope burns on her wrists. “We're going to get you out of here.” Tears filled the girl's eyes, and she clung to Byleth's arm as the Ashen Demon stood up.

“Lorenz,” She called. The noble appeared in the doorway in an instant, head bowed slightly. His eyes widened at the sight. “Guard her. Keep her away from the fighting as best you can. I would send you back, but there might be more people here.”

“As you wish, Professor,” Lorenz responded, his tone quiet and dutiful as opposed to his usual proud tones. Byleth carefully lead the girl to him, catching her when her knees buckled, until Lorenz was able to pick her up. Then she hurried back out into the hall.

Hilda was back on her feet, looking no worse for wear; her shirt and leathers were pretty thoroughly bloodstained, indicating that Marianne had needed to cut the arrow out. _I need to buy the class better armor... _Ignatz was collecting arrows off of the ground and from corpses while Lysthiea twisted the key in the door and pushed it open. Marianne fidgeted in place, brushing soot off her clothes. Byleth smiled upon seeing them, though only lasted a moment. _Where are Ashe and the others? I wish there was some way of seeing what was going on with them... _

Hilda blinked when she saw the little girl, then smiled brightly and walked over. “Hey there. It's going to be okay,” She promised, patting her on the head. The girl initially flinched away from the bloodstained teenager, but she leaned into the touch with a little whine that made her seem even younger than she truly was.

“Ignatz?” Byleth asked, walking through the gate to the small, narrow room where Ignatz was warily hovering near a suspiciously open door. “Who's in there?”

He didn't get a chance to answer her – a pained scream in a very familiar voice solved the mystery. Ignatz jolted and looked horrified, and the rest of the students sans Lorenz rushed up to join them. “Dear Goddess,” Marianne whispered – whether in horror or anger, or both, it was too quiet to tell – her hands clenched tightly.

Flayn's agony lashed against Byleth's every nerve like a raging fire. A strange red haze filled the entire room, which jerked and moved forward. _Byleth!, _Sothis shouted though the fog as her (Friend? Host? Channeler?) shoulder-checked the first myrmidon in her path and kicked him into his partner, sending both of them into the ground. _Byleth, control yourself! _

Byleth gave her head a shake, barely noticing when an arrow thumped into her shoulder. Taking the Sword in her other hand and jamming it into face of another mage, she stepped over the corpse so her students could make headway. Her eyes panned around the room; it was narrow and bare except for a number of enemies who stood between them and a door from which another pained scream echoed. _I'm sorry, _she thought distractedly.

“I can do this!” Ignatz slammed his iron sword into the face of a mage, the awkwardly kicked them away. “Professor? Are you alright?!”

“I'll manage,” She gritted out. _Stupid, amateur move, _she chastised herself. _Taking a page from Caspar, are we? _“Take them out!”

As if on cue, an arrow whisked out. Marianne let out a startled yelp, stumbling back a step and watching in bewilderment as the dark mage that had been approaching her abruptly fell dead. “We've really got to stop meeting like this,” Ashe said breathlessly, darting out of a passageway Byleth had overlooked in her fit of irrationality. He drew another arrow and fired at the archer harassing Hilda on the other side of the room, allowing her and Lysithea to finish him off.

“Ashe,” Marianne gasped, hurrying to his side and healing the superficial-but-painful-looking scar on his face. “Thank goodness.”

“There you are,” Byleth said in relief. Her eyes fell down to his wrist, which was now clad in a strange white band that flickered with silver dust. “What happened over there?”

“A lot of treasure, a bunch of weird mercenaries, and what I think must be some sort of control mechanism for those warp tiles,” Leonie reported breathlessly, hurrying out of the alleyway next. Her clothes were ragged and torn in several places, but she was as energetic as ever. “No sign of Flayn though.” Raphael and Annette appeared right behind her. Raphael looked exhausted and was sporting a disturbing number of bloodstains on his clothes while Annette hovered around him, clearly a bit worried but since she didn't immediately scream for Marianne or Byleth herself, she must have had the injuries under control. “Oh geez, professor, your shoulder-!”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Byleth gritted her teeth. “I got careless; but never mind that right now – Flayn's beyond that door. Go!”

Leonie nodded briskly and shot forward alongside Hilda; sucking in a deep breath and pressing her mouth closed, Byleth grabbed the arrowshaft still stuck in her shoulder and yanked hard. Marianne uttered a horrified 'Professor, no!' and her vision briefly went gray, but the arrow came out in its entirety, and that was just going to have to do. Physic hit her moments later – saving her from the worst of the vertigo.

“Sorry, Marianne,” She said, dropping the bloody projectile to the ground. Ashe let out a strangled noise of distress she barely heard. _Oh, Falrie would give me such a blistering lecture for doing that..._ “I need my shoulder.” She rushed to join her students. Hilda raised her mace, surrounded by green light, and brought it down on the door. The wood instantly splintered and _shattered _under the sheer force applied to it, cracking off its hinges and crashing to the floor. What Byleth saw within was not conductive to controlling the hair-trigger state that she was in.

Flayn was lying on a raised wooden table which was liberally splattered with a strange green-tinged liquid. Her wrists and arms were bound in multiple places with thick bandages that were dirty and soaking through; and over them were iron chains wrapped around her arms, her legs and her neck, binding her to the table without the slightest room for movement. Her clothes were filthy and while there was a faint rising and falling of her chest, she was slumped on the table with her eyes closed and wasn't moving at all. Just behind her, a red haired girl in a ragged, filthy, barely-recognizable officer's academy uniform was bound and gagged and slumped against the stone wall with a trickle of blood coming from underneath a hasty bandage wrapped around the crown of her head.

A dark mage stood right behind the table, holding in his hand a thin vial with a sharp point that he had just pulled free of Flayn's shoulder. He was...viscerally disturbing to look at; it wasn't that he was heavily scarred, it was that his face just seemed _strange, _even though there was no one thing about it that one could point a finger at and call unnatural. Alongside him were two men armed with lances and one other mage.

The strange man jerked back a step when the door collapsed, eyes wide ask dinner plates. “Death Knight! Where are you?” He shouted, his voice cracking in a way that Byleth might have found pitiful at any other point in time. “Intruders! There are intru-”

Leonie's arrow skewered his arm; causing him to scream and drop the vial, letting it shatter on the stone floor. The dark mage staggered and then vanished in the same flare of pink light that had swallowed the Death Knight back in the Holy Masoleum. Byleth swore bitterly before pulling an arrow from her quiver and stabbing the approaching lance wielder in the eye. Raphael took down the mage with a vicious one-two punch while Ashe and Ignatz skewered the mage – though not before the latter managed to get off a fireball that ignited Hilda's sleeve.

Raphael hurriedly turned and helped her put out the fire while Byleth rushed to Flayn's side. Marianne and Annette followed right behind them, their worried murmurs sounding as if they were coming from far away.

Byleth carefully pressed two fingers against Flayn's neck, then lowered her ear to the smaller girl's chest. The only response that drew was a faint, cracked whimper; her pulse was weak, and so was her heartbeat. “Flayn...” She whispered, a painful ache knotting in her chest. Straightening up, she immediately began to pull on the chains binding one of her arms, fumbling until she found the lock. “Ashe, come here, I need your help...”

The boy was at her side in an instant, sliding to his knees and revealing a rather expensive-looking set of lockpicks. Byleth briefly wondered where in the world _those _came from before shoving the thought away, instead taking hold of the chain and waiting for the telltale _click _of the lock coming open. As they worked to free her, Marianne hurried over and cast a basic heal spell on Flayn before examining her as best she could; Annette carefully stepped over Byleth in order to do the same for the redhaired girl. Lorenz stood just behind them, stock still, the scared orphan girl still clinging to his leg.

“Um...Professor?” Ignatz said nervously.

“What is it?” Byleth grunted as she unwound the chain around Flayn's neck. The girl looked up at her with bleary eyes, tears of relief trickling down her cheeks, before they slid closed.

“Where is Jeritza? He...he went down here, didn't he? He should be here, but none of us saw him...”

“Do you think he just ran for it?” Raphael suggested. “He knows that he's been found out, and the whole of the church is after him. Maybe he just bolted. There're so many passages down here it's possible we missed one.”

Byleth grimaced. “That man seems to think that the Death Knight is here, however. ...I don't think we're out of the woods yet. Not until we get back upstairs.” _Where the hell are the knights? Did they have to get recalled? And where's Claude...he wouldn't let himself get held up for long... _“How are they?”

“She's alright,” Annette said, gently brushing the blood away from the redhead's eyes. “She's got a bit of a concussion, but the head wound's shallow, and she's not that malnourished. Marianne?”

The blue haired girl shook her head. “...massive blood loss, lacerations, dehydration...she's alive, thank goodness, but I need to take her to Professor Manuela. I...I can't heal this much properly on my own.” She wilted when saying this, her head dropping.

Byleth yanked the last chain off and threw it aside before straightening up and giving Marianne's arm a gentle squeeze. “You'll learn,” She promised. “Now, let me think...Lysithea, can you look after Anna's little friend?” The mage girl nodded, beckoning the orphan closer. “Lorenz, you carry the redhead... and Raph-”

A great, rumbling _thud _interrupted her. Byleth spun around, staring in alarm at the wall just behind Annette and the redhead. A moment later, there was another, louder crash, and a spiderweb of cracks appeared in the stone. “Goddess. Damn. It.” She uttered, torn between disbelief and resignation. “Annette, _get up!_”

Annette didn't need the prompting; she hastily shoved the redhead into Lorenz's waiting arms and threw herself forward, rolling over one shoulder and back to her feet. Marianne wrapped her arms under Flayn and pulled her off the table with little visible effort just in time for the wall to shatter inward under a great impact and a flare of purple magic. Byleth stepped in front of them, sword raised up, as the dust cleared and their enemy became clear.

The ebony armor of the Death Knight looked almost like a casket up close – even standing a few feet away, Byleth couldn't see how he could have put it on, since there were so few visible joints where one piece of it ended and another began. He didn't have his horse; likely it had been unwilling to come so deeply underground. But he was exactly as she remembered him from the Masoleum. Taller even than her and Raphael, armed with a silver-black scythe that 'hummed' with magical energy_,_ and even though his face she could sense the malevolent smile beneath it. The glowing red eyes in his helmet swept dismissively over her students. “_**I have no need of you,**_” He rumbled, raising the scythe up.

Byleth's eyes widened; she had just enough time to shove Ashe back before the scythe came down and grazed her shoulder, cutting straight through her leather armor. Fortunately she'd thrown her weight enough that she was only grazed, rather than loosing her arm entirely. She hit the ground, rolled and swung back to her feet in time for his second attack; she brought the sword up and countered it.

The weight of the scythe felt heavier, and hit harder, than anything she'd countered with the Sword before. Had she not been in the throes of battle fever, she might have been taken aback for a critical moment; as it was, she forced the weapon to the side while her students scattered.

The Death Knight swung again, blindingly fast; she attempt at dodging resulted in another gouging scar on her arm. The spike of pain wracked her arm terribly, but she cast a rapid Heal and swung in retaliation. She was more than a little surprised when the sacred weapon's blade cracked his shoulder armor, but didn't immediately destroy it – _it must be enchanted, nothing else has survived that before_ – and it didn't really stagger him. Her opponent walked a few steps and swung again; the blade flashed with magic. Byleth threw herself to the ground, letting the likely fatal blow fly directly over her head; his armored boot lashed out, hitting her injured shoulder and knocking her onto her back.

She forced herself to draw in a deep breath and threw herself to the right; the scythe slammed into the ground where she'd lain moments ago. She rolled onto her knees and got back to her feet, spinning to the side so his next blow missed her as well. _He's fast for someone wearing so much armor! _She pressed her finger against the hole in the sword and launched it at her enemy, who didn't really attempt to dodge. It cracked his armor again, staggering him a bit.

“Get back upstairs!” Byleth shouted at her frozen students before rushing forward.

“But professor-”

“_Go!_” They couldn't fight someone like this. They weren't ready!

The Black Knight's eye trained on Ashe again. Snarling, Byleth threw Nosferatu directly at his chest; she gained little relief from it, though thankfully her left shoulder stopped bleeding and didn't feel quite so numb. Sure enough, he swung the scythe at her neck; she blocked it, though her arm buckled and she ducked out of the way moments later. _Is this man truly Jeritza? He fights like an animal –! _She parried again and then took a stab at him; he retreated from her reach, showing he didn't believe that his armor was invincible.

Marianne – proving once and for all that she was far braver than her disposition suggested – dove straight past the Death Knight, coming within a hair's breath of him, to run for the stairs with Flayn in her arms. Only a pair of brigands coming from a side hallway cut her off, and the blue hared girl merely knelt on the floor so she could free one hand to cast Thoron. Byleth saw this because the Death Knight saw it, tilting his head as if rendered curious by the display of resolve.

Then he cast a glance back at her. It was a brief look -

-but when he pointed the scythe at Marianne's back, that purple-black magic crackling around it, Byleth knew precisely what it meant. _He wanted to make sure she was watching while he killed her. _

That red tinge flooded her vision again. She cast the sword out, the collapsible blade wrapping around the blade of the weapon; then she _yanked back _with the dull burn of her Crest augmenting her strength. A blast of black energy flew directly upward, smashing into the ceiling and bringing mortar and brick raining down on their heads. The Death Knight had a death grip on his weapon, so she failed to pull it away; nevertheless, she retreated the sword and scrambled backwards, narrowly avoiding the falling bits of ceiling, so she was standing between him and her student.

Ashe and Leonie were had teamed up to take potshots at a pair of mages who had appeared out of one of the labyrinth entrances. Raphael was preoccupied to the right. Lorenz, Hilda, Annette and Lysithea were guarding the other two victims; Lysithea looked like she was trying to aim for the Death Knight, but couldn't take her eyes off her quarry for long enough.

“_**One of us will live. One of us will die,**_” The Death Knight said, a lusty undertone of excitement dripping from every word. “_**I will enjoy this dance of damnation.**_”

Byleth cast one quick look at Marianne. There was fear in the other girl's tired eyes, but she held Flayn tightly and set her face in defiant resolve. The Ashen Demon had no doubt she would take another run for the stairs if the Death Knight could be sufficiently preoccupied. “Very well,” She said coldly, pointing her sword at him again. Now matter how much she ached and bled, as long as she could breathe, she would fight him. “Let us begin.”

The Death Knight took a step forward...and was forced to stop and cringe when an arrow whisked through the air and lodged itself in the cracked armor in his shoulder.

Byleth's head snapped to the right. A pale and stone-faced Claude drew another arrow – _there you are, _she thought with a surge of warmth – while Dimitri forwent any sort of planning to jump down the remaining steps and head directly for the Death Knight. She opened her mouth to warn him off, but ended up coughing roughly instead while Claude yelled for her and Marianne.

The Death Knight deflected Dimitri's first lance strike. “_**You're getting in the way of my game,**_” He snarled before trying to bring the scythe down on his head.

Dimitri didn't even twitch. He merely raised his hand up and grabbed the pole of the blade, stopping it dead. Just...just reached up and _stopped it_, like picking up a stone from the road. A pale silver-blue light began to emanate from him; he was so tense he seemed about to shake.

“Game...?” The prince bit out. Byleth stiffened. Dimitri's voice was full of a hatred so pure it was almost holy; the Death Knight tried to pull away, but this time his strength wasn't enough. “You call these acts of bloodshed and murder a _**game...?!**__” _The light flared and formed into the Crest of Bladdiyd; the crackling of crushing stone echoed in Byleth's ears. “_**Perish, you monster**_!”

Before her disbelieving eyes, Dimitri twisted his wrist and the weapon that had clashed with the Sword of the Creator cracked and shattered like a child's toy; he turned the curved blade slightly and slammed it into the Death Knight's chest. The impact cracked and _shattered _the battered chest armor and threw the man several feet backwards into and _through _the part of the wall he hadn't destroyed earlier.

Byleth stared wide-eyed at Dimitri, and knew without looking that everyone else was as well. The prince started to walk towards his downed opponent, nonchalantly tossing the fragmented blade aside, when there was a pink flare of light...this time bringing someone _into _the room.

“**You're done here,**” A distorted voice told the Death Knight, who was clambering to his feet when this person appeared in front of them. “**There will be plenty of time for you to 'play' later**.” There was a somewhat sarcastic emphasis on the word 'play', though perhaps Byleth's exhausted and spinning mind was imagining it. Claude had run down to her and Marianne's side, and he stared at the figure with narrowed eyes.

“_**I will go,**_” The Death Knight said reluctantly; then he vanished in a flare of light.

The figure turned to fully face her, Dimitri, Claude and the rest of her students. They were a heavy armor knight, whoever they were, though hardly an ordinary one. Parts of their armor were painted black, they wore a scarlet cloak with a feathered trim, and the ax that they held in one hand was of a make that Byleth had never seen before. _Much like the scythe..._ The helmet they wore included a completely concealing face mask, the likes of which were used in theater for comedies. They weren't a tall figure, but they radiated absolute confidence, even though they were technically surrounded. “**I see your Crest serves you well, Prince of Faerghus,**” They said. This time, there was an undeniable sneer on the word 'crest'. “**Few have defeated my Death Knight before.”**

“So, you claim responsibility for all of this?” Dimitri spat, his free hand clenching into a fist. “For the abduction and torture of students?”

“**I claim responsibility for my creature, nothing more,**” The person answered. Their attention shifted over to Byleth. **“We will cross paths again. I am the Flame Emperor. It is I who will reforge the world.**” With that, they vanished, despite Dimitri's attempts to reach them.

“Coward!” The prince shouted after them, furious.

“Dimitri!” Claude called after him urgently. “Dimitri, Lorenz needs your help!” Indeed, a somewhat bloody Lorenz was struggling to carry the red haired hostage while Annette worked on healing him. Lysithea and Ignatz were trying to comfort Anna's sobbing helper with little success.

“Please help him,” Byleth said when Dimitri partially turned around, frustration warring with worry in his face. “We need to carry them up to the infirmary.”

The uncharacteristic anger seemed to die away at that; Dimitri nodded, slid his lance over his back and ran to Lorenz's side. Marianne stood up, still dutifully carrying Flayn, while Claude finally stepped in front of Byleth. “You need any help?” He asked.

“I'm fine,” She tried to say dismissively, though a pain in her shoulder made her wince.

Claude gave her a most incredulous look. “No offense, Teach, but you look like you just lost a fight with a wyvern over it's dinner.” He took her hand and slung it over his shoulders. “Come on. I won't tease you about it later, I promise.”

“Hah...” She wasn't used to this. She wasn't used to feeling weak. She wasn't used to being overwhelmed by her senses as she had so many times this fight. What was happening to her? Was she falling ill? Did...did normal people feel these things every single day? “I'm holding you to that...” She looked around. “How is everyone?”

“Bruised, bloody, very tired...” Raphael huffed out, “...but we're gonna be fine, Professor. C'mon. We know we're not allowed to die.”

Marianne let out a startled laugh. Byleth smiled. “Good.”

“This is why you shouldn't go off without me!” Claude complained as they made their way up the stairs. “C'mon, Teach, I wasn't that long gone, was I?”

“I'm sorry,” Byleth murmured, finding herself leaning more heavily on him. “I was afraid that, now that he was discovered, Jeritza would kill his hostages. It's happened on the job before.”

Claude tisked and sighed; and Byleth had a feeling that while he understood the explanation, he didn't like it. “Right. Makes sense, but still...blood doesn't look good on you, Teach.”

“I don't think it looks good on anyone,” She responded quietly. “Though I...appreciate the sentiment. Thank you.”

* * *

When they got out of the passageway, they were met with Catherine, Shamir, Alois and Seteth – all moments from storming the labyrinth themselves. Seteth let out a strangled cry when he saw Flayn and rushed to her, carefully taking her out of a tired Marianne's arms. The blue-haired girl grasped his sleeve and murmured something to him that Byleth couldn't catch; whatever it was, the bishop nodded shakily in response and the two of them set off for the infirmary together.

Catherine and Shamir promptly took the little girl and the redhead, respectively, from Dimitri and Lorenz before ordering everyone to follow them to the infirmary. Alois then – much to Byleth's shock – promptly took _her _from Claude and _picked her up bridal style, _completely ignoring her squawk and resulting protests as her amused students trotted along at knight's heels. “I can walk, dammit!” She complained, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment; it fell on deaf ears, and even _Dimitri and Ashe _were smiling at her situation! That was just unfair!

Manuela had regained consciousness when they reached the infirmary, in no small part due to Archbishop Rhea having stepped away from her duties to provide healing personally. Her eyes grew very wide when she saw Seteth with Flayn, a look that didn't go away when she saw Alois lower Byleth onto one of the cotts. The woman hurried over, and hovered for a moment between the two beds – Flayn was lying right next to Byleth – looking torn, before sitting on the edge of Flayn's bed and going to work. Byleth approved, and promptly ordered her students (and the Blue Lions) to stay and get cleaned up. Marianne flitted from bed to bed, providing healing while Manuela patiently talked her through the more complex injuries; ensuring that the blue haired girl wouldn't heal a bone incorrectly or cause a blood clotting.

Byleth, at Seteth's insistence, gave her report while Marianne tended to her injuries. Raphael chimed in once or twice, which Catherine looked a little scandalized by, but Rhea gently laughed it off and said that they had all fought very bravely. The labyrinth and its mechanisms gained a number of raised eyebrows, but – tellingly, as Claude would say – none of the church knights looked particularly surprised. Catherine volunteered to go down with Shamir and a detachment to investigate the area and make sure that no one could use the tunnels to get back into the monastery.

Rhea was a remarkably skilled healer; it wasn't long before Flayn was stable and in a sleeping properly. It would take her a few days to recover her strength; she'd been steadily drained of blood for several days, after all. But she would suffer no permanent physical damage.

Byleth herself hadn't been seriously injured; Marianne cleaned up her injuries in less time than that. Once she and the others were released and dismissed, she went straight back to her dorm and fell into a fitful sleep without dreams.

The next morning she was once again woken by a knock on the door; this time it was Cyril, saying that Seteth wanted to meet with her. Giving her hair a quick brush and pulling her boots on, she made her way to his office on the second floor of the monastery.

“Professor...allow me to extend my eternal gratitude once again.” Seteth bowed deeply to her. “Flayn is safe and sound, and I have you to thank for that. Mere words can never express how thankful I am. I...” His voice cracked a bit. “I am indebted to you.

Byleth ran a hand through her hair, giving him a small hesitant smile. “I'm just happy she's safe.” She answered truthfully.

“Yes indeed.” Seteth's returning smile was wobbly, and for a moment Byleth genuinely thought he might start crying in front of her. What should she do if he did? “I...I, too, am overjoyed.”

She bit her lip, then asked the question that had been burning at the back of her mind since her father had told her of the situation. “Do you have any idea why they took Flayn in the first place?” She asked hesitantly.

That seemed to snap Seteth out of his happy daze, and his expression settled into something closer to his usual seriousness. “Her kidnapper was Jertiza, who, considering the evidence we now believe to be the Death Knight you've encountered.” He shook his head. “An of course, we cannot forget about this mysterious Flame Emperor...his motivations are still unclear.” The man crossed his arms, troubled. “However, given that they were draining Flayn of her blood...I can only assume that means they know how valuable it is.”

“...Is it because of the Crest of Cethleann?” Byleth hazarded a guess. “Did they think just taking her blood would be enough to somehow transfer it?”

Seteth shook his head more vehemently, and Byleth knew right away that there was a secret he did not dare share about his only family. “I cannot say. But if enemies that know the power of Flayn's blood have appeared, then we have no choice but to flee and go into hiding.”

Byleth frowned slightly. Her lips parted to suggest that they were as safe as they would ever be in the heart of the central church when the door swung open. “Brother, wait.” Flayn protested. She looked dramatically less pale and sickly than yesterday, but she was leaning on the wall and her breath came out in harsh pants.

“Flayn!” Seteth sputtered in disbelief, hurrying to her side. “What are you doing, you should be resting!”

“I do not like the path of your thoughts,” Flayn responded, pushing his hand away. “I do not want to go away to some lonely, remote location where I never get to see anyone! Not ever again.”

“If we stay here, you could be targeted again! It's too much of a risk!” Seteth protested.

Flayn put her foot down. “Even if we run off to some new, secret location, there is no guarantee that they would not find us,” She responded. Byleth couldn't help but nod in agreement. “I do not want to keep running, brother. I believe it is better that we stay here, surrounded by capable professors and warriors.”

Seteth wavered, raising a hand to his chin. “I...I see your point, I suppose. But...”

Flayn turned fully towards Byleth, eyes glowing hopefully. “You know it is the only reasonable option! What if I were to join the professor's class?”

Byleth blinked twice at the other girl. “I would like that,” She said, and was a little surprised by how much she meant it.

“Oh, you would?!” Flayn gasped, clapping her hands together. “I am so very pleased to hear that! With a professor like you nearby, I know I will be as safe as I will ever be!” She spun and nearly fell down, with Seteth catching her. She looked beseechingly at him with wide teal-green eyes. “Please, brother, you can see that now, can't you?”

“...It's true,” Seteth said. He helped his sister stand up and turned toward Byleth. “You have proven to be a brave and valuable ally to the church, Professor Eisner. If you would be willing to take in Flayn and protect her, I...I trust that you are my best hope for a normal life for her.”

Byleth smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

Seteth bowed again. “I shall go and speak to the archbishop immediately. Please...do take care, Professor. Flayn is all I have left.”

“She'll be safe,” Byleth responded, taking Flayn's hand in hers. “I swear it on the Sword of the Creator.”

* * *

“You're sure you're up to a proper lunch?” Byleth asked Flayn as the two of them made their way into the dining hall.

“Oh yes,” Flayn said. “I desperately want to eat something other than the foul gruel those...” She shuddered. “t-those terrible people deigned to let me eat while I was trapped with them. I am desperately craving some grilled fish; I promise to take care and eat slowly.”

“Good,” Byleth said, leading her to the Golden Deer table. It seemed like it was inter-house reception day (she'd somehow forgotten about that) because Dimitri, Ashe and Dorothea were sitting with Alois, Claude, Bernadetta and the others; meanwhile Lysithea was sitting next to Annette over with the Blue Lions. “Hello, everyone.”

“Flayn!” Hilda cheered brightly as the two of them sat down at the table. Bernadetta gave them a small wave while Claude finished off his drink and grinned warmly in their direction. “Good to see you on your feet! How are you feeling?”

“I'm rather tired, but I believe I am well. Thank you Hilda,” Flayn responded, picking up her knife and fork. “I am in good spirits, because my brother has allowed me to join your house for the rest of the year!”

“Really?!” Claude said brightly. “That's wonderful! You hear that, Mitya!” He raised his class to his fellow class leader. “You have one more thing to try and plan around for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion!”

“Oh yes, whatever shall I do?” Dimitri responded drolly, but his sarcasm quickly gave way to a genuine smile. “I'm glad to see you in good spirits, Flayn. I'm sure you'll do well under the Professor's guidance.”

“Of course! Teach could turn the first street kid she tripped over into the next second-in-command of the Knights of Serios.” Claude bragged, taking another deep drink. Byleth felt herself blush and that bubbly feeling again. Heavens, she was coming apart at the seams these days...! “And now that she's here, she can swoop in and save us from Sir Alois's terrible puns.”

“Puns?” Byleth asked curiously. Her father mentioned that Alois has a somewhat eccentric sense of humor, but puns?

“Come now, Claude!” Alois protested. “They're not that bad, surely!”

Byleth shrugged. “I suppose I wouldn't know without hearing them,” She mused. Claude and Hilda both gave her martyred looks, while Dimitri looked slightly amused. Alois spared a second to look offended, and then laughed, before telling her one of his patented jokes...

She didn't really know what to expect. And on the face of it, puns weren't very clever. And yet...

_should I say, Your spryness? _

Something bubbled up in her throat, yet another new and odd feeling she had no name for. Byleth sat there for a moment, tried to imagine saying that to the faces of any one of the nobles her father had worked for...

And burst out laughing.

It seemed to seize her whole being. Her blood buzzed happily, her head spun from lack of air, and she laughed and laughed with enough force to make her shoulders shake. Her hair fell in front of her face, blocking off her sight, and she braced her elbows against the table as she fought to breathe. “Ah,” She hiccuped, still giggling uncontrollably as she fought to get control over her breathing. She reached up and tucked some of the blue strands behind her ear, seeing Alois's dumbfounded expression, “Oh my...ahahaha...aha...your...spryness....oh my goodness...”

“Wait. You actually found it funny?” Alois managed, eyes wide.

For some reason, that caused her another round of giggling. “C-can you imagine s-saying that t-to someone? T-The l-look on their faaace...” Her sentence promptly broke down; she laughed and laughed, running a hand through her hair. It took her several seconds to realize the table was staring at her; Flayn had clapped her hands together in delight, Hilda's mouth was hanging open...Claude looked _completely_ _awestruck_, while Dimitri...he was staring at her with...

“W-What?” She managed as best she could, catching her breath.

“I-I'm sorry,” Dimitri stammered, smiling himself. “I just...I don't think I've ever seen you so happy before. It's...downright mesmerizing.”

Byleth ducked her head, letting her hair fall down again. “Oh...ahaha...I guess that's right...”

Claude's lips moved without any sound – a rare sight, indeed. Then he turned towards Alois and calmly said, “Hey, you've got a few more of those, don't you Sir?”

Alois blinked once, twice, and then puffed up. “Well of course I do!”

Byleth took a quick drink, not trusting herself to have anything in her mouth when whatever resided in the knight's mind hit her ears. She felt light – like she could fly without a pegasus and touch the sky. How had she lived her entire life without feeling something like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish the Crest of Bladdiyd activated more often, because it's frigging amazing. If Dimitri activates it, say a quick prayer for his enemy, because he/she is EXTREMELY dead! Even the Death Knight folds like wet paper under a Crest-boosted Knight-Kneeler. (though it does lead to that annoying there where he goes 'that battle didn't count' and teleports away, leaving me sitting there and complaining, 'uh, no, you're dead. Dimitri just snapped you in half. You're dead! Just realize you're dead!') I will be having much fun with his Crest in upcoming battles! 
> 
> The Goneril Crest, for story purposes, is similar to the Crest of Bladdiyd but differs in execution. The latter enhances the wielder's strength to stupid degrees across the board, while the former is a force multiplier - so whatever you hit gets hit way harder than it should. Hence Hilda hitting a home run with that one guy's head. 
> 
> I've also decided that Byleth loves puns. I blame Alois.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri observes a tournament and starts to learn something about himself.

The crowd cheered loudly as Lysithea threw one final Miasma spell. Dimitri winced sympathetically as Mercedes was knocked flat – even at Quarter Strength, deliberately suppressing the vast majority of her power in order to safely spar against others, the diminutive white-haired girl hit _hard. _He'd been rooting for his classmate, but he'd had a sneaky suspicion that Lysithea would overwhelm even her not-insignificant magical resistance. “Oh, Mercie,” Annette said in sympathetic disappointment, watching Lysithea help her friend back to her feet. “You gave it your all!” It didn't stop her from clapping for her rival classmate's victory.

It was a week after Flayn had been rescued, and something akin to normalcy had fallen over Garreg Mach. Classes resumed, and a series of weekly tournaments had been announced to build up anticipation for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. The champion would get a gold purse and a corresponding weapon forged from good silver; those who placed second and third would get smaller but not inconsiderable prizes. Lady Rhea was sponsoring the events, providing all of the rewards from the monastery's own coffers. It was both a test to see how far the students had come in their studies, and a lighthearted attempt to return to normalcy after the attacks on the building. To that end, it was most certainly succeeding – all three of the houses were in a flurry of training and enthusiasm as they aimed for the glory of first place.

Today was the Black Magic tournament, including both members of the Knights of Serios and his various classmates. Unfortunately, Dimitri had suspected there was little chance of a Blue Lions victory this time; Lysithea had conquered every opponent she'd faced so far, and now she was off to the semi-finals. Her classmates were cheering her on enthusiastically from the opposite side of the what was usually the training grounds, but had now been re-purposed into the tournament house. Even Bernadetta was there in spite of her fear of crowds, bouncing on her heels and clapping happily as Lysithea bowed and walked off the floor.

“Man,” Sylvain groaned, rubbing the back of his head. The white haired girl had trounced him quite thoroughly in the second round. “Who would've thought that such a cute little girl would be such a powerhouse?”

“Anyone who paid any attention to her?” Ingrid suggested in a rather snarky way. Sylvain gave her a wounded look that she'd long since become immune to. “She's incredibly studious for her age, isn't she? I don't think anyone else in the tournament has shown off as many different spells as she has.”

Annette groaned and slumped back in her seats. “Thanks, Ingrid. I'd been trying not to think too hard on the fact that she knows the one move that takes away my advantage of being more resilient than her – and a dozen other things that I hadn't had the time to read about, that she somehow did!”

“You're faster than her, though.” Ingrid pointed out, squeezing the orangette's arm. “Don't give up before you've even stepped onto the floor!”

“A _little _faster, maybe, but she hits harder,” Annette moaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “WhatamIgonna do...?!”

“Well if you go into the fight like _this, _you'll _definitely _loose,” Felix grumbled from his seat behind her, crossing his arms. His new silver sword was buckled to his hip, a visible sign of his triumph in the sword tournament the previous week. Of his opponents only Petra had given him serious competition, which won her his respect; Dimitri had seen the pair sparring a few times afterwards.

“Give it your all, Annette,” Dimitri said, giving her a smile. The announcer was calling for the final match of the round, between Lorenz and Hubert. The Black Eagles cheered loudly; after Linhardt and Dorothea both lost in the early rounds, the taciturn teenager was their last chance at victory. “We'll be cheering for you either way.”

“He's right, Annie,” Mercedes said warmly, stepping around some of the third year students to reach her seat next to her friend. Annette immediately gave her a tight comforting hug; the older girl smiled and patted her shoulder. “Don't put yourself down too much. You'll surprise Lysithea, I'm sure of it.”

“Thanks Mercie,” Annette said, looking a bit more confident in the face of their reassurances. She settled back into her seat, Mercedes wincing a bit as she did the same, and they all turned their attention to the floor where Lorenz and Hubert were circling around each other.

Dimitri couldn't help but look across the stands to where Claude and Byleth were sitting. The relative distance made it difficult to parse their exact expressions, and even then Claude's body language was completely relaxed. He was sitting with one leg over the other, beverage in hand with his expression set on the field; however, as if he could sense he was being watched, he lazily raised his glass in Dimitri's direction before taking a drink. Byleth was leaning forward in her seat, hands clasped together, watching avidly in spite of her reserved posture.

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment; he'd rather hoped to catch her laughing or cheering with the same enthusiasm Alois's terrible jokes had inspired in her...

The starting bell snapped his attention back to the floor. Lorenz had made the first move, and it was immediately obvious that he wasn't much stronger with magic than he was with his lance – and there was absolutely no comparison between him and Lysithea. He had a good sense of battle ebb and flow, and rather pompous demeanor he wasn't a fool...but near as Dimitri could tell, the man simply wasn't very strong. Hubert, meanwhile, while often overconfident, had plenty of magical power to speak of. And despite everything Claude had ever said...he wasn't the only ruthless student in the monastery.

Dimitri winced when Lorenz collapsed onto his knees, Mire dissipating as the damage was done. The crowd gasped, and Leonie leaned forward on the seat in front of her in visible alarm. Lorenz staggered to his feet, a visible limp in his step, before coughing violently.

“That move is meant to poison enemies, and he used it on another student? Even at restricted strength...!” Ingrid said, disappointed and revolted. “Can't they can foul on that?”

“There are no fouls in a real battle,” Sylvain reminded her, though he was scowling too. “As long as he didn't draw blood, it's acceptable.”

“That's just _nasty_,” Annette said, wrinkling her nose. “Why would he pull that out in a friendly tournament? It's such a low blow.”

“Vestra takes great pride in dealing out 'low blows'. He loves reminding everyone who will listen that doing so is his job as Edelgard's retainer.” Felix answered, rolling his eyes. “It would serve him well in a real battle, which I'm sure is what he'll say. Of course, the real reason he's doing it is to prove a point.”

Dimitri scowled, watching while Lorenz threw a fireball at Hubert's face when the latter walked up to finish him. He was tempted to say that served the black-haired mage right. _Goddess, it's true that he will take on tasks that El could not or should not in time, but that gives him no cause to treat the rest of his fellow students with contempt. _

“Gloucester is going to loose,” Felix said, rolling his shoulder. “Frankly I don't think he would have won even without the cheap shot.”

Ingrid sighed heavily. “And you wonder why some people aren't interested in training with you...”

“What?” Felix snapped defensively. “It's true. Has he ever physically or magically out-preformed his classmates? Ever?”

“He might have, and we just weren't around to see it,” Mercedes suggested kindly.

Felix snorted. “I doubt it. He can build up his strength, if he applies himself with all his concentration to bettering himself, but right now, he's the weak link of the Golden Deer. Even Victor is more useful in a fight than he is.”

Dedue didn't say anything, but the way his lip twitched suggested he actually agreed with Felix. Dimitri sat back in his chair and returned his attention to the fight...and as Lorenz staggered under another blow, tried to retaliate...he thought that he, too, might see it. He hadn't given it much thought when he won the first tournament back in the third month – he had trained with the lance most of his life, after all, and he was stronger than Lorenz could hope to become as a matter of course. But now that he thought of it...Raphael was stronger, Ignatz and Leonie were faster, Bernadetta was faster and she had the Crest of Indech, Hilda was strong and could fight with lances as well as axes, Claude and Byleth went without saying...honestly, that only left Flayn and Cyril, and he hadn't seen either of those two fight personally.

Dimitri wondered if Lorenz was aware of this, even subconsciously...and that's why he so aggressively insisted that he was a better leader than Claude...ah, but that was mere conjecture.

There was a thud as Lorenz finally fell down, and the victory bell rung loudly. There was applause, of course, but it was markedly less enthusiastic than what Lysithea had gotten; Hubert either didn't notice or didn't care, because he roughly pulled Lorenz to his feet and walked off without a word.

“Is it petty if I hope that he gets blown away in one move next round?” Sylvain muttered. It was a mark of how angry that cheap shot had made Ingrid that she didn't even pretend to chastise him.

“Then I guess we're both petty,” Annette answered, scowling fiercely as Marianne hurried over to give her classmate a checkup. Dimitri, again, looked back across to the Golden Deer's section. Claude was as unreadable as always, but he didn't clap for long; Byleth, meanwhile, had stood up halfway when Hubert cast Mire...and the prince was fairly certain that if he was standing closer to her, he could see indignation in her face.

Dimitri shook his head. _Getting a little presumptuous there, are you? _He thought wryly, before saying “well, let's put that aside, shall we?” The announcer loudly declared that the tournament would resume after lunch, which would go on for one hour. “After all, Annette needs to eat well and prepare herself for her next fight!”

Annette moaned at the reminder, though they was excitement in her eyes as well as trepidation. Dimitri lead the way, standing from his seat and making his way through the crowd as people began to disperse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Flayn tugging on Seteth's arm while the bishop was trying to say something to Lady Rhea; he resisted her only for a moment, before letting her pull him up and after her new classmates. Dimitri couldn't help but smile a bit at the sight, and...not for the first time...wish that he'd been blessed with at least one sibling. He remembered how lonely the castle often felt as a child, and how blissful the year with El as his constant companion had been.

But the world had not let him keep her at his side, and now he felt the silence of the castle halls all the more keenly. It made him grateful for his friends, grateful that his uncle – for all that the man had no sense of priorities – was alive and present in his life, for whatever that was worth.

It hurt to be alone.

The warm smell of grilled fish and onion gratin soup hit him the moment he stepped into the dining hall. Excited babbling quickly filled the room was everyone streamed in; extra tables and chairs had been drawn up for the knights and staff who were participating in the tournament as opposed to being out and about on duties. Ingrid dragged Dimitri into a conversation about saving money for weapon repairs; the blacksmith was a hard but friendly woman and she gave them a discount, but now that their armory was bigger Ingrid's thrifty instincts were kicking into high gear.

_She's worrying too much, _Glenn said fondly. _Tell her she's freaking out over nothing. Half of those weapons are almost brand new. _

_I will once she's calmed down a bit, _Dimitri responded silently. _I don't have a death wish. _That made is father chuckle softly.

Picking some food at random, Dimitri retreated to his usual seat at the table and smiled encouragingly at Annette, who looked pretty green at the gills even as she put a light plate down in front of her. “You're going to do great, Annie!” Mercedes insisted with a smile, sliding a glass of water over to her best friend. “Don't be afraid.”

“Yup! You're gonna go and fight the scariest girl in the Alliance knowing that the honor of our house depends on you, it's gonna be great!” Sylvain said cheerfully. Annette blanched, and Ingrid smacked their childhood friend upside the head without even having to be asked. “Ow!”

“Shut up,” Felix grumbled, glaring at him. “You deserved that.”

Dimitri gave his classmates a bemused smile, his eyes drifting across the room without really looking for anything. Over at the Black Eagles table, Edelgard was talking animated to Hubert; her expression was obscured from him, but the way she was rapidly moving her arms suggested she was irritated with him. Dorothea picked up seat and turned it so she was facing Edelgard and had her back to Ferdinand, who was obviously trying to talk to her. Caspar was chatting with Linhardt, while Petra was eating a little off to the side from them.

By contrast, the Golden Deer looked cheerful as ever. Lysithea was basking in Hilda and Cyril's attention while eating quite a bit. Bernadetta and Marianne seemed to be engaged in conversation – and a rather animated conversation for them at that, seeing as the former was gesticulating with some energy while latter watched attentively. Raphael was clearly trying to convince Lorenz to eat something he'd never tried before, while Ignatz was staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Claude was talking to Byleth...and unless Dimitri missed his guess, trying to get her to laugh again, seeing as he said something that made her double up and clap a hand over her mouth while her shoulders shivered.

Then something happened he wasn't expecting – Captain Jeralt walked into the hall and grabbed a chair off of the wall. With little but a nod toward a very surprised-looking Alois, he walked over to his daughter and said something Dimitri had no hope of hearing amidst the general chatter. Byleth jerked her head up when she saw him, and she nodded vehemently before standing up and pushing on Claude's shoulder. The brunette flailed a bit before shuffling his chair over a few inches, the rest of the deer doing the same one by one. Jeralt grinned, set the chair on the floor and sat down in the newly created spot next to his daughter.

Dimitri smiled softly at the scene, both admiring it and feeling achingly wistful. There was also an irrational stab of jealously, that rose as quickly as it was shoved down, since he could only dream of doing the same.

“Dimitri!”

He jolted in his seat and turned sheepishly toward an indigent-looking Ingrid. “I'm sorry, I was lost in thought,” He apologized, rubbing the back of his neck. “What is it?”

“Shouldn't we start talking about strategies for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?” Ingrid asked in turn, mopping up the remains of her first bowl of soup with a bread crust. “It's in three weeks, after all.”

Dimitri took a drink cold cider and swallowed thoughtfully. “We can start planning for some possible eventualities, yes,” He said. “I'm just not sure how _much _we can plan this far in advance. We don't know where the battle is being held yet, after all.”

“We can consider what the others might plan to do,” Ingrid persisted. “Claude pulled a fast one on you during the mock battle. What do you think he'll do this time?”

“Hard to tell,” Dimitri responded evasively, feeling a little defensive. “And honestly I think trying to predict a trickster like him is an exercise in futility. Claude isn't just a troublemaker, as he likes to portray himself; he's genuinely clever.” He leaned back in his chair. “And we can hardly forget about Edelgard and the Black Eagles.”

“What exactly are they going to do for the battle?” Ashe wondered, idy tapping his fork against his glass. “They're a classmate short with Bernadetta's transfer. I know that's not a huge gap in their team, but it puts them at a disadvantage, doesn't it? Plus Bernadetta's pretty good with a bow herself...”

“Either Monica will take her place since she's rejoined the Black Eagles, or one of the lower-ranked Knights of Serios will sub in.” Sylvain supplied. Then he shrugged and smiled a bit. “The way I see it, the only way we'll put Claude off his game is if we force him to adapt to _our_ strategy, rather than trying to figure out what he plans to do. So we just have to do something he doesn't really expect...like, perhaps, rush forward and aim to get more kills before he can spring whatever trap would give him the victory?”

He grinned proudly for a minute. That expression slowly slipped away as he realized that literally all of his teammates were staring at him. “What?” He asked, chagrined. “It's not that bad an idea, is it?”

“No, it's a good one,” Felix said flatly. “What's weird is the fact that you're the one suggesting it.”

“H-hey!”

Dimitri burst into a fit of laughter before he could stop himself, shaking his head. Ashe snickered a bit himself before hastily apologizing to a pouting Sylvain; Mercedes put a hand over her mouth while Ingrid rolled her eyes in spite of her lips twitching upwards. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Glenn miming whacking his brother over the head while his father leaned against the wall, watching the display with a familiar twinkle in his eyes.

“Edelgard prefers to lead with overwhelming strength,” Dimitri noted when he caught his breath again. “I think, between all of us, we can come up with a plan for that.” He smiled. “The Black Eagles prefer to fight on foot, after all.”

That sparked a spirited discussion about formations that Ingrid lead with great enthusiasm, Ashe occasionally offering suggestions while Sylvain played up his sulking. While they talked, the green tinge slowly but surely left Annette's face the more she contributed, by suggesting what sort of terrain they might have to deal with and what might happen if the battle became a free-for-all melee. The topic proved absorbing enough to last them through the rest of the lunch break; the bell rang, and while Annette jolted in her seat, she didn't look quite so sick as when they arrived.

* * *

“It's nice to watch a fight with low stakes after last week,” Ashe said, quietly enough that Dimitri almost missed it amid the cheering for the semi-finals. Hubert had just defeated his opponent, leaving him to be the final opponent for whoever won this round.

“Ashe?” He inquired quietly.

The silver-haired boy jolted, as if he hadn't realized he'd said that out loud. “O-Oh...” He glanced over his shoulder at the people behind them, including knights and older students. Satisfied that none of them were even slightly interested in what he was saying, he shrugged uneasily and said, “You...you didn't see how they were keeping Flayn, down in that labyrinth. Or the traps, or the mercenaries. I almost got skewered twice, trying to make my way through some of the back passageways. It was dark...it was like an enemy could appear from anywhere.” He sighed. “I know that being a knight means I'll have to see more things like that, but it was really terrible. I'm just...well, I'm glad we're putting all of that behind us for now.” He paused, clapping loudly for Annette and Lysithea as they entered the field.

“I understand,” Dimitri responded after a moment, watching as Lysithea's arrival caused a number of people to stand up and cheer enthusiastically. She had made a huge impression over the course of the tournament for demonstrating all that she was capable of. “It's alright to feel that way, Ashe. Honestly, I'm glad of it as well.”

“O-oh. I-I'm glad to hear that.” Ashe clapped along with the crowd. “Though between the passageways to the Holy Mausoleum and that underground chamber...I wonder what else is beneath the monastery that we don't know about.”

_Or aren't supposed to know about, _Dimitri thought but didn't say. Either way, further conversation was interrupted by the starting bell.

“Go Annie!” Mercedes cried as Lysithea opened up with a basic Fire spell launched right at Annette's chest. The orangette threw herself to the side, narrowly missing, and retaliated with Wind. It blew up quite a bit of dust, and Lysithea barely flinched on the impact, but this was just the beginning.

It was fascinating, at least to Dimitri (who had absolutely no talent for magic whatsoever), to watch two talented magic users spar. You'd think that it would be quite different from physical weapons just due to its nature, but in truth there wasn't that much of a distinction. One tried to overpower their opponent while taking as few hits as possible – magic just provided many more esoteric ways to strike your opponent. Perhaps that was why magic-channeling weapons were comparatively rare; they weren't easy to make and more difficult to spar with, since one couldn't innately control their power output. Both Ingrid and Annette's earlier analysis was about right – Lysithea was stronger than Annette, but the latter was faster...but not by much.

Lysithea seemed to be aware of this, too. She was watching where Annette moved through the first half of their duel, waited for her opponent to attack...then dodged, then she broke out the Luna spell. She aimed not where Annette was, but where she anticipated the other girl would dodge – and managed to catch the orangette in the side.

Mercedes gasped as Annette staggered, dropping to one knee, and the crowd went into an uproar. Both Cyril and Raphael jumped to their feet, cheering for their classmate to draw the fight to a close; Dimitri didn't need to be close to know that Claude was smiling smugly – and quite possibly proudly – while lounging on his chair, clapping. Byleth was clapping as well, leaning forward in her seat and watching the fight avidly. Annette had not given up yet, after all.

She could see that Lysithea was running on fumes, after all. Annette being faster on her feet was not for nothing; she could chip away at the girl and do more damage over time. And while Lysithea was powerful beyond what someone her age could reasonably be expected to do, she was rather on the frail side in comparison, and when Annette stood up again and threw another spell, she stumbled back when it hit and clutched at her chest, shoulders hunched.

Dimitri frowned, unable to help but worry at the gesture. That...was a stronger reaction than she should have had. These tournaments were meant to be safe... Was Annette miscalculating how much power she was using in the heat of the moment, with defeat seemingly moments away? He looked across the field again, trying to determine if any of her classmates were seeing this as well, but his attention was snapped back to the field by a blinding flare of light.

Let it not be said that, for all that he annoyed her with his teasing, Lysithea hadn't picked up on any of Claude's flashiness. In order to win, she threw Seraphim at the floor, causing a blinding light to fill the immediate arena. Then she charged Annette down and threw a fireball into her chest, finally knocking the other girl flat on her back.

The bell rang, declaring the victor. Lysithea smiled, pained, at the cheering crowd for a few seconds before collapsing bonelessly to her hands and knees.

Dimitri instinctively jerked to his feet, unnecessary though it was; both Manuela and Hannamen were on the floor in an instant, while Annette quickly rolled over and put a worried hand on Lysithea's shoulders. Across the hall, Byleth jumped up and stared for a second before roughly pushing her way through the cheering, clapping crowd toward the stairwell. Marianne and Cyril had both stopped clapping in shock, while Claude sat upright – visibly alarmed, which said a lot coming from him.

“What happened there?” Mercedes asked worriedly, her hands clasped together in prayer. “Is Lysithea sick? Did she get hurt? I didn't see Annie make any mistakes...”

“I don't know,” Dimitri admitted, watching Manuela pick the white haired girl up and carry her off the floor. Annette, her defeat seemingly completely forgotten, hurried along behind her with Hannamen at her heels, the latter trying to make her slow down and listen to him. “I think it must have been some sort of accident. She's in good hands, though.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Byleth disappear down the stairwell to see her student. “I'm sure she'll be fine.”

“Why'd she collapse?” Felix wondered, frowning. “She didn't take more hits here than in any of her other fights, did she?”

“I don't think so?” Dimitri tried to think back, but all that came to mind was her blowing away her first few opponents. She had virtually controlled the battle in her previous engagements – a smart strategy for mages in general, so it didn't necessarily mean anything... _If Claude looked surprised, he doesn't know why it might have happened either. There's a worrying thought. _

“Was she just tired?” Dedue suggested cautiously. “Annette gave her far more trouble than her previous opponents. Perhaps she overexerted herself.”

“So badly she collapsed? In a mock battle?” Ingrid frowned. “I wonder if Lysithea has health problems that she's been keeping quiet. She really should have been fine...”

They all paused when the announcer spoke again. Apparently Lysithea had fallen to a severe bout of dizziness, so the final match would be postponed for half an hour while she downed an elixir and lay down to recover. “That might explain it,” Ashe pointed out, though there was a worried look in his eyes. “Lysithea is very self-sufficient, and she really doesn't like asking for help. I bet she felt a little funny after lunch and just assumed she could work through it.”

“And how do you know that?” Sylvain asked lightly. Dimitri knew by the look on his face that he was setting the younger boy up; unfortunately, Ashe wasn't quite so savvy when it came to the redhead and thus answered innocently.

“Oh, I tried to give her an extra coat when we were walking to Magdred Way, and she got all embarrassed by the offer. Swore up and down that she was going to be just fine and that she could keep herself warm, and that I didn't have worry about her...honestly, she went on long enough that I realized how much she valued looking strong in front of her teammates.”

“Ah, tough luck,” Sylvain said, patting his shoulders sympathetically. “Most girls really like the doting approach. But don't worry; I heard she loves sweets. You could probably bake your way into her heart!”

“I-what? That wasn't – I didn't – Sylvain!” Ashe protested, rapidly turning a shade of red not dissimilar to Edelgard's cloak. “It w-wasn't like that...! I was just a little worried for her!”

Sylvain just laughed; Mercedes laughed a bit herself, though she smiled apologetically at the very flustered archer. A few minutes later, beverages were passed out once again and Annette returned to the Blue Lions seating area. “Lysithea's alright. She just stressed herself a bit too much; nothing that can't be fixed by lying down a little. She'll be up to kick Hubert to the curb in no time!” Dimitri relaxed at that, though he noted that Byleth hadn't returned to the stands yet; was she still lingering at her student's side? It was odd to think of the quiet, composed Ashen Demon hovering and fretting... but, perhaps that name no longer suited her.

The Ashen Demon didn't laugh, after all.

His heart skipped at the mere memory. Seeing Byleth's face lit up with sheer, unadulterated joy as she laughed at Sir Alois's terrible puns...it shattered something; suddenly she looked innocent, pure and young. She became – no, it was like looking at a statue that suddenly gained a massive crack, revealing a warm, vibrant being beneath it. It...defied description. He'd been so taken with it he'd hardly heard anything Alois said throughout the rest of the meal, just waiting to hear her voice like that and see that smile again...

He knew that Claude had similar thoughts. Dimitri had only seen that stupefied expression on the other boy's face once before...when they'd been in the greenhouse together that night. He didn't begrudge him it _one bit_. How could he?

Jokes, laughter, teasing and discipline applied by Ingrid to Sylvain filled the time until the announcer (it was the same man who usually was on guard duty at the front gate, unless Dimitri was quite mistaken!) enthusiastically announced that the final round of the tournament was upon them. Lysithea walked onto the floor across from Hubert, back straight and head up as if nothing had ever gone wrong; at the same time, Byleth appeared at the foot of the stairwell. She made no attempt to get back to her seat, however – perhaps considering it a fool's errand, seeing as most everyone was on their feet and cheering loudly for the final duel, jumping and jostling for space as it was. If Hubert was perturbed by the crowd's obvious preference for his opponent – seeing as his entrance had a not-inconsiderable number of boos mixed in with the cheers, likely do to his poor show of sportsmanship earlier – he was careful not to show it as he squared off against the young prodigy.

Curious, Dimitri scanned the crowd until he found El, standing and yelling for her right hand man to grasp victory. The energy of the crowd must have infected her; she rarely showed 'undignified' bursts of emotion out in public..._that had been true all the way back then, and it seemed not to have changed_...for the most part, anyway. The other Eagles were cheering for Hubert as well; at least his own house had his back, regardless of how he preformed and the displeasure of the crowd. Despite their differences and frequent arguments, they were a loyal group.

The bell rang, and Dimitri sat back in his seat with his hands together. He wasn't worried, unlike Ignatz, who was so wound up on his friend's behalf that he was still standing, yelling out encouragement as Lysithea elegantly dodged the glimmer of Mire and threw a fireball back. He remembered the fiery look in the younger girl's eyes when she'd stormed out of Hannamen's room, and when she'd knocked Duscur brawlers around like wooden posts at the mountain range. He was already certain of the outcome.

Hubert didn't have the same sort of determination that infected every corner of Lysithea's consciousness.

“He's already lost,” Felix said, very matter-of-fact, when Lysithea walked right through a Miasma spell in order to throw Luna directly at Hubert's chest. “He just hasn't realized it.”

Dimitri chuckled in agreement, letting the roar of shock and awe drown out his reaction. Felix would glower at him, and he'd rather let Ingrid remain absorbed in the battle playing out before them rather than having to scold his friend and possibly miss the final blow.

Hubert tried to use Mire again, but Lysithea dodged it again and then smirked at her opponent – Dimitri had been lucky enough to be able to see her reaction; she'd forced her opponent back far enough to see her well enough.

Perhaps it was in the interest of being flashy that she retaliated with Swarm – or maybe she was mocking him for using Mire the way he had against Lorenz; he couldn't be sure, but whatever her cause...seeing the spell bodily pick Hubert up and then drop the older teen on his back on the ground – well, it was a sight to see.

And a reminder that she would need to be taken out quickly at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, lest he loose half of his classmates to her. Only Ingrid and Mercedes had any real resistance to magic to speak of...the less he said about his own ineptitude on that field, the better.

“Your winner, and queen of the grounds, Lysithea von Ordelia!”

Dimitri was duly impressed that he could hear Hilda screaming in delight above all others, even as the entire crowd went wild. Lysithea seemed a bit overwhelmed by the adulation; she turned in a circle, looking all over the crowd, at her classmates (all of whom were on their feet, clapping and cheering with the sort of enthusiasm that generally wasn't considered 'proper' by nobility) and at Seteth, who was approaching her with her prize. Hubert got to his feet, hunched over a bit in frustration, before giving her a bow and stepping aside.

Lysithea carefully took the bag and the magic staff and gave the crowd a proper curtsey. Then – almost like a child – she rushed off to the side of the field. Dimitri stood up and realized that Byleth had walked a few feet out of the entrance, just in time to catch her young student as the white-haired girl rocketed into her arms and hugged her for dear life. The young professor stumbled back a step, flailing a bit before carefully placing her arms around the Lysithea's shoulders and returning the gesture.

He couldn't quite see her expression, but he thought, with the way she was standing, she might be a little hesitant, a little shy...and a little grateful.

Smiling a bit to himself, Dimitri got up and carefully made his way off of the stands, Seteth announcing the remaining prizes as he left. Annette had won something, which she hadn't expected judging by her squeak of surprise; Mercedes urged her to follow him and go collect her winnings.

Making his way down to the doorway was easier than he expected; and sure enough, when he got there, the Golden Deer had beat him to their victor. Raphael had bodily picked Lysithea up and perched her on his shoulders, Hilda was bouncing in place and quite literally singing the girl's praises...Ignatz and Cyril were hovering on Raphael's left and right, the former looking a little worried while the latter rambled about how amazing the fights had been. Marianne and Bernadetta were comparatively quieter, but both were smiling brightly, while Leonie shook her head and chuckled. All while Lysithea herself looked as if she couldn't decide whether she was completely embarrassed or soaking up the attention.

Dimitri blinked, realizing two people were missing. Curious, he looked around the hallway until his eyes fell on the open double doors.

Just beyond them, a haggard-looking man dressed as a traveling merchant was gesturing animatedly while speaking to Byleth and Claude. “...following the road, demanding a toll that increases every time we pass by them,” he lamented when Dimitri stepped close enough to hear over the din of cheering behind them. “One of my partners was crippled the last time we attempted the journey to the monastery and I couldn't give them the gold they wanted. The worst part is, they're hardly worse than any other group of highwaymen, but we don't have the funds to pay for a mercenary guard...and the Knights of Serios are busy with more important matters.”

“How many of them are there?” Byleth asked patiently, her arms crossed.

The man shrugged helplessly. “I...I confess I'd never had the presence of mind to count carefully, but I'd say about fifteen, twenty? Something akin to that. They would be no danger to a properly armed militia, but...”

Claude hummed lightly. “That's all? That's essentially the same stakes as our first mission, isn't it Teach?” He smiled entreatingly at her. “After the last two months, it seems more like a breather.”

Byleth tapped her foot a few times, clearly thinking. “That's true,” She decided after a minute. “We have faced worse than this by now. We have the time and the resources to deal with these people permanently.” Turning toward the man, she said, “We accept your commission. I'll have to speak to the archbishop, but I believe we can depart for the road quite soon. If you can show us your maps...?”

“A-Ah, of course! Thank you so much...my friends and I are in your debt!” The man bowed deeply and handed Byleth what looked like a contract before rushing off in the direction of the courtyard.

“No need to hover there like an eavesdropping servant, Mitya,” Claude teased without turning around. Dimitri felt his face flush; Byleth started and turned around, blue eyes widening slightly in surprise. “Pass Annette my congratulations, will you? Not a lot of people can take a Luna from Lysithea and keep on fighting!”

“I'm sure she'll appreciate it,” Dimitri said, running a sheepish hand through his hair. “Though she might like it even more if you were to tell her yourself.”

“Normally I would,” Claude said, finally turning around, mirth dancing in his emerald eyes. “But I think she's still in knots over my overly theatrical introspection on one of her hand-written songs, and I feel bad about that.”

“Oh, you do?” Dimitri said dryly, rolling his eyes a bit. He gave Byleth an apologetic look before changing the subject, “That man is one of the merchants who usually brings produce and metals to the monastery, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Byleth said, fiddling slightly with the scroll in her hands. “However, the trade route he and many others have long used has fallen under the control of bandits. He's offered us a reward for going out and dealing with them.” She frowned. “I know that not all merchants can afford to buy protection for the road, but I would have thought that trade at Garreg Mach would be substantially lucrative.”

“Well, it is,” Dimitri said with a sigh, “However...you likely know more about this than even I, but bandits and social unrest seems to be stalking every corner of Fodlan. Even the Knights of Serios are being stretched thin.”

“Did you know, Teach? It wasn't Officer's Academy policy to send students out into live battles until about two years ago,” Claude said. Byleth blinked and looked curiously at him. “The manpower problem proved bad enough that everyone who even sort of knows their way around a weapon is being encouraged to go out and try to restore a bit of order. Between the Insurrection of the Seven and, well, the obvious,” He gave Dimitri a quick mildly apologetic look, “the nobles seem to be unable or unwilling to secure more 'inconsequential' problems like this.”

“I see.” Byleth mused. “If he's lost as much as he has to these bandits, his offer for rewards is rather generous.”

_He must be getting fairly desperate. _“It's quite an honor to get a commission before you've completed even a year's worth of study,” Dimitri commented, smiling lightly. “Your reputation proceeds you, Professor.”

“That's...” Byleth ducked her head a bit. “Ah, you flatter us, Dimitri. Please pass Annette my congratulations; I ought to go and speak to Bishop Seteth and Lady Rhea about the Deer departing for this mission. It should only take us a couple of days, but I need to clear our plans with them.”

* * *

True to the Professor's expectations, Lady Rhea gave her blessing and the Golden Deer departed for the highway the next day. Dimitri couldn't help but worry a bit, even when common sense told him that Byleth, Claude and their classmates were more than capable of handling a motley group of highwaymen. It was hardly any more dangerous than what they'd faced over the last three months – honestly, this was probably _less _dangerous than what they'd faced in those tunnels beneath Jeritza's quarters.

Dimitri did his best to focus on his training, and doing what little information hunting he could in the library late at night. Tomas was a little more vigilant these nights, apparently since Claude had been reading some books that were supposed to have been removed and fell asleep in the room over a book of tales of the Heroes Relics. Dimitri couldn't help but be a little amused by the mental image...he briefly entertained the notion of asking for the other boy's help in his own search for information, but he shied away from it.

Claude had his own troubles to worry about without Dimitri burdening him with his own. Finding the truth about the tragedy was his responsibility, and no other's.

With no impending disaster or undercurrent of trouble on the horizon, his dreams were less troubled and thus he managed to sleep through the night more than once – a blessing if there ever was one. Dedue had expressed interest in participating in the Intermediate Axe tournament; he encouraged his friend to sign up, both to show off his capabilities and to test himself against such fine opponents as their classmates. Ashe seemed to have completely come back to his warm, cheerful demeanor from before that terrible would-be rebellion; he was frequently out and about helping in the garden as well as the kitchen. He'd even encouraged Dedue to serve some Duscur-style cuisine even in the face of disapproval from some of the monks.

Dimitri hoped that Ashe knew how much that meant to his friend.

A few days went by without incident, and Dimitri found himself training late into the night once again. For once it wasn't entirely intentional; he'd found himself on the edge of a new technique, and in his determination to preform it perfectly and commit it to memory, the final bloody rays of sunset were cast across the sky when he finally put his training lance away and left the grounds. Dimitri let the double doors swing shut behind him and leaned against them, sighing heavily and running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, drawing a wet line along his cheek as he let it drop. _Slow and steady, _he reminded himself as he caught his breath. _Slow and steady...you'll make it. _

_You still have time, _his father assured him.

_Do you have the time? _Glenn wondered, a slight frown on his face. _With all the shit that's happened in just three damned months, how much time do you really have?_

_It will be enough, _Dimitri promised his brother in all but blood. _However much time there is, it will be enough, I promise..._

_So you've always said, _Glenn noted with that familiar deceptive mildness.

Dimitri gave his head a shake and straightened up. “I mean it,” He whispered. “I promise, Glenn. I'll never give up.” Giving his head a shake, he grabbed the bag containing the change of clothes he'd had the sense to remember this time, and began to make his way toward the bathhouse. Cats and dogs darted to and fro across the cobblestone pathway as he walked over to the stairwell to that upper level. The cool wind whipped around him as he made his way up the stairs, his breath still coming out in heavy and almost painful gasps. There was light blazing through the windows, even this late in the day, which he was grateful for.

Entering the bathhouse, he quickly dropped off his bag and grabbed a towel before beginning to fumble with the clasps of his uniform. His hands were a bit shaky, _perhaps I should have brought some watered down ale to the training hall...ah... _It took a few minutes, and as he worked, he slowly realized that he could hear someone humming an unfamiliar tune and the sound of water sloshing against stone from beyond the wall and the curtain separating the bath from the change rooms. Curiosity flickered within his tired mind, _who else would be here this late? ...No, I know that voice..._

“Claude?” He called hesitantly once he'd finished divesting himself of his soaked clothes, throwing the towel over his shoulder.

The humming paused momentarily. “...Mitya? What in the blazing flames are _you _doing up so late?” Claude's bemused voice floated back.

“I was training...when did you get back?” Dimitri asked, walking past the door into the room.

Claude was submerged up to his neck, scrubbing his shoulder. His eyes widened when he noticed Dimitri coming in, a gesture quickly followed by him turning around so his back was to the prince. “About ten minutes ago. Raph and Ignatz went straight to the dorm, but my mind was a bit too busy for sleep, and I craved a hot soak.”

“Oh,” Dimitri said, a bit dumbly. _Why did he...? _He stood a foot from the tub, a little hesitant, before putting the towel aside and slipping into the large tub.

For a second, he thought he heard Claude's breath hitch.

Feeling oddly self-conscious, Dimitri began to splash his face with water, welcoming the warmth and the salt. An awkward silence lingered for a few moments before Claude quietly resumed humming, water sloshing as he moved. It wasn't a tune the prince was even passingly familiar with; it had a rapid tempo, Claude's soft tone rising and falling sharply on words that were spat out like rapid arrow fire. It was lovely and strangely hypnotic; Dimitri leaned back against the side of the tub and found himself just listening to it, his eyes flickering as the tune swept over him.

“It's beautiful,” He said quietly. “Is that song from home?”

Claude's humming stuttered, and he managed a few more notes before pausing entirely to chuckle. “You...” The half blood huffed out a laugh. It was warm and coy, and something about it sent a shiver down the blonde's spine. “If I hadn't met Teach, you would be the strangest damned Fodlander I'd ever met. You know that, right?”

“...I'm sorry to be strange.”

“Don't be. It's a good thing.” Claude disappeared under the water for a moment, then stood up straight, throwing his head back and running his hands through his hair.

Dimitri blinked a little, his eyes traveling down the archer's back...there were scars marring that golden skin, some small, others less so; _how many of those came from people who hated his mother, and all that he represented...? ….I almost hope that most of them are from pitched battles. It seems less cruel... yet, isn't it terribly wrong that the violence of war is the lesser evil implied by scars...? _

Water dripped down Claude's muscles as he worked his fingers through his wild hair; he was wry and muscular in a way that suggested much more strength than met the eye. The scars were easy to dismiss if you were used to such sights, which Dimitri was, and once you put them aside one could truly see the dangerous alchemy his father's blood had bestowed on him. His stomach was almost flat, the muscles flexing slightly as he worked...even his lazy gestures implied a certain amount of strength that might take you by surprise...

“Is there something on my back, Mitya?”

Dimitri jerked in surprise, his eyes flickering up to Claude's face. The brunette had tilted his head slightly, stray strands of wet hair dangling in front of his emerald green eyes...eyes that had a strange, remote and careful expression within them, even as his lips turned into a familiar teasing smirk.

“A-Ah...n-no, I...I...” Dimitri floundered, groping for words. Had he been staring? He – he hadn't noticed. He hadn't...his cheeks flushed. “I'm sorry...I didn't mean to stare...”

That smirk widened, but it didn't go up to those emerald pools. That expression was almost akin to the mask he'd worn before that chance encounter. “Like what you see?” Claude purred lazily.

Dimitri choked; he could feel blood rushing to his cheeks. He reached for a denial but his tongue seemed to form in a knot. “I...c-come now. You...you know I believe you to be quite striking.” Handsome. Claude was handsome. _Why did that suddenly feel frightening to say aloud?_

“Yes you did,” Claude said, almost to himself. Dimitri wondered why his throat felt tight all of a sudden; almost unwillingly, he looked up and met Claude's eyes...Manuela's voice drifted through his memory..._Riegan practically stepped right out of an opera. Those are dangerous eyes he has...they're drowning pits for the soul. He could draw in anyone he desired. _Suddenly, that felt quite literal. Was the bath making him light headed? What was happening to him?

Claude's calloused fingers brushed against his shoulder. _When did I stand up_? It traced the length of a long scar, down slightly past his collarbone. “How did that happen?” The other boy's voice echoed from somewhere far away. “It looks like someone tried to cut your arm off.”

“O-Oh...that...” Dimitri murmured, his vision flickering down to the familiar wound before quickly – inexorably – flickering back up to the brunette's face. “They weren't trying to cut _my _arm off. This was from when I met Dedue...I found him on the street, being beaten by several of the guards. They were prepared to kill him...they didn't hear my voice shouting for them to stop; they didn't even see me until I was standing between them and their target.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I'm proud of them, I admit. They're proof that I managed to save one life, in the end.”

Claude was silent for a moment, staring at him. Then he let out a quiet chuckle. “Are you sure I'm the one who fell from heaven?” He asked lightly. Then his hand disappeared, and the weight of his gaze was suddenly gone. “Well, I'm about done here...I'll wait for you outside, kay?”

Dimitri started to say something, only to gasp and look down at the water when Claude pulled himself out of the bath. His heart was racing, and it didn't slow even when his friend disappeared behind the curtain.

_W-What is happening to me? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That, Dimitri, is a cluebat. Do you need another one?
> 
> I figured that after the last few plot events, our heroes deserved to unwind for a bit, and this chapter took off on me surprisingly fast, so I figured why not? I'd been meaning to do something with the tournaments earlier, but they got shuffled around by other things, so here's a nice showcase - also, Byleth accepting her very first battle quest! Between that and Lorenz's paralogue, I've got a good idea of how I intend to fill the month before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion - which allows me to fully flesh out my plans for the latter. 
> 
> I think you readers will be pleasantly surprised!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude deals with bandits and unexpected emotions. Then he finds a new mystery to untangle in the tunnels and spaces deep beneath Garreg Mach.

“A-are you sure about this, Claude?” Marianne whispered, tugging on her hood. The silver thread moon pattern decorating it was remarkably elegant in its simplicity, yet still visibly expensive. It was a gift from her adoptive father, one of several he'd given her just before she left for the monastery.

“Absolutely. Though I may have trouble firing my bow due to lack of circulation in a couple of seconds.” Bernadetta squeaked and immediately let go of his arm, which she'd been clinging to quite fiercely as the three of them started walking down the open road. She was dolled up too, wearing a furry overcoat loaned from Dorothea that almost dwarfed her. Claude reached up and ruffled her hair, cutting off her rapid-fire apologies and causing her to squeak again. “Wouldn't be the worst handicap I've ever fought with.”

The purple-haired girl flinched a bit when he touched her head. A small, involuntary jerk she didn't seem to be conscious of...and, after a moment went by and no blow came, she tried to lean into the gesture like a child seeking reassurance.

Claude tugged lightly at her bangs and let his hand drop back to his side, making sure to smile playfully at the girl's embarrassed whine. _She desperately doesn't want to be alone, yet she's terrified of other people...at least, she's terrified of displeasing them somehow. _Following up criticism with a joke and a friendly gesture would go a little way to acclimating her to the idea that she was safe with them, so he made a point of doing so whenever he got the chance. “C'mon, little sis, this road takes us right to Garreg Mach.” He said at a just-slightly-louder-than-normal tone of voice, which echoed over the quiet road and through the trees. “There's nothing to worry about.”

“I-If you say so,” Bernadetta responded, requiring absolutely no effort to sound nervous. Claude put an arm around her shoulders; a little hard to make the gesture look casual without giving away the bow and quiver hidden under her coat.

Marianne shifted her pack and stepped closer. “We're just a little less than a day's travel away. Isn't it strange that we haven't seen anyone else on the road for a while?”

Claude shrugged. “A little, but it's probably just a slow week. It happens in Deirdru sometimes, it makes sense that every now and then the road to the monastery is quiet too.”

“Or everyone else has started taking different routes,” Marianne countered, shifting the large pack she had slung over her shoulder. It mostly empty except for several concoctions, her Levin sword, and a few silver items they'd found scattered in the woods – which served the purpose of making it _look _like it was packed with goods. “There's been trouble in these parts, love.” She flushed a bit at the endearment and side-eyed him; he smiled back encouragingly.

“There's trouble everywhere these days. Does that mean we should stay at home and never leave the mansion?” He responded easily. The trees behind him shivered; his lip curved upwards.

It wasn't hard to find the stretch of road that the bandits preferred to ambush the merchants at. It was surprising how comparatively close to Garreg Mach it was; another sign of how out-of-control the bandit problem was, really. Teach had scouted for the bandits, and upon returning confirmed that they were indeed as ill-equipped for proper opponents as the ones they'd faced months ago. She'd gone on to say that there was a risk of their enemies scattering if they confronted them in force; something that had been a recurring problem for Jeralt's Mercenaries in the past. With that in mind, Claude had proposed luring the bandits into an ambush and encircling them – to that end, he, Marianne and Bernadetta were posing as a couple of rich travelers headed for the monastery while the rest of the class split into two groups and concealed themselves in the woods.

There was a bridge up ahead that was wide enough for two horse-drawn carts to travel side-by-side over a river with a fast current. No cover, which was a bit worrisome, but that meant that the bandits wouldn't have access to it either. Plus the forests at the far end meant that anyone who was injured could retreat past the encirclement that they planned to set up.

Bernadetta hesitated at the edge of the bridge and gave him a nervous look. She'd offered to be one of the lures; he wasn't sure why, though he had a theory. He nodded at her ever so slightly and pointed behind him slightly with his thumb. They had a tail; just as planned. He could see the movement out of the corner of his eye. The purple-haired girl gulped and her hand dropped down to the short sword at her belt. “It's going to be fine,” He said easily. The ax at his belt shifted slightly as he moved.

Footsteps thudded against the dirt and stone. Bernadetta flinched and then spun around; Claude did the same, eyeing the shoddily-armed and armored bandits as they surged out of the trees from the direction they'd started crossing from. Fifteen in all, former farmers judging by their scarred hands, bulky builds and the fact that some of them were still wielding woodcutter's axes in spite of their lucrative thefts. He did his best not to smile; this display was oddly run-of-the-mill compared to the Holy Mausoleum conflict or the fight in the Duscur valley.

“Lookie what we got here,” The man he presumed to be the leader leered, looking Marianne up and down in a way that made her flinch. Claude immediately took a step in front of his classmate and glared at the brigand. _Oh, are you volunteering to die first? The wagon can't take everyone, after all... _“A couple of spoiled rich kids.”

“What's in the bag, pretty one?” Another man asked, trotting closer to Marianne and reaching for her pack. “You've got something in there to pay the toll, yeah?”

“O-of c-course,” Bernadetta said meekly. Claude twisted to look at her, worried for a moment, until he saw her shoulder tense up. “I've-I've got it...r-right here...”

One of the bandits grinned down at the shaky little girl and strode up to her. He moved to grab her by the shoulders; which turned out to be a poor idea, because it meant that he couldn't put an arm over his chest when Bernadetta pulled the slender, shortened Killing Edge out of its sheathe and violently slashed upward – cutting a clean swath through his chest and slicing the edge of his throat open. The jagged edges of the blade were so vicious that even someone with (comparatively) less physical strength could cut an enemy's limbs off; the man gurgled and collapsed, blood spraying everywhere from the neck wound.

Claude didn't wait even a moment to admire Bernadetta's initiative; he pulled the cord holding the cloak on his shoulders off revealing his officer's academy uniform, grabbed his ax and swinging it into the lead bandit's chest while he and his men stood gaping at the diminutive noble girl. This one was actually wearing some decent armor, seeing as the wound only staggered him; he promptly kicked the man's kneecap and when he fell to his knees followed it up with a knockout kick to the face.

Marianne dropped her pack and cast Blizzard; the first bandit regained his wits in time to dodge, but that only resulted in the blast hitting the man behind him and freezing his feet to the ground. She followed that up with a second blast that shattered the ice and put the man on his back, before reaching into the pack and drawing out the Levin sword.

“Heh,” Claude chuckled at the stunned shock on the brigand's faces. “You didn't seriously think you could hold a road to Garreg Mach Monastery for ransom indefinitely, did you?” He smiled over at Bernadetta, who rapidly struggled free of her coat and grabbed her bow in her other hand. “See, Bern? You were amazing right there. Don't you agree, Teach?”

Byleth swung up onto the bridge from where she'd been lying in wait; the Sword of the Creator sizzled with steam as she let it rest by her side. If the bandits were scared by the realization that their targets were armed and trained, they were _terrified _by the sight of the relic weapon. “Agreed,” She said with her typical calmness; it was joined by the hint of a smile that made Bernadetta perk up.

Arrows whipped out of the trees, striking a few arms and legs but otherwise missing or simply forcing the bandits back toward Byleth. Leonie and Ingatz both emerged from the forest after Lorenz, who was rushing to join the fight. They were followed by a slightly-worried looking Flayn, who clapped in relief when she saw the three of them standing straight and clearly not injured. A blast of fire forced one of the bandits to jump off the bridge and into the river; Lysithea and Cyril emerged then, appearing on either of Byleth's sides to glare scornfully at their opponents.

The bandits, in either a fit of desperation or the mutual silent decision to go down fighting, actually snapped out of their fear at that. Claude stepped in front of Marianne and blocked the ax headed for her chest; he pushed the man back a bit, and then kicked him away completely when Bernadetta's arrow lodged itself in his shoulder causing his body to lock up in shock. He quickly stowed his ax and took his bow in hand again.

Byleth darted into the middle of the fray, dodging past an ax in such a way that the bandit hit one of his partners instead of her. She spun on her heel, slammed the hit of the sword into the side of her would-be opponent's head and then kicked his leg out from under him. Seeing another man approaching her, she stepped elegantly to the side letting his swing pass her harmlessly and ensuring that she was out of the way so Cyril had a clean shot at him. The orphan boy raised his bow, just a few feet away from the man's chest, and fired two arrows; the close range increased the intensity of the impact twice over. It punctured the man's chest and likely one of his lungs; Byleth gave him a merciful death then by slicing through his throat.

Claude shot out the knee of the bandit who decided that he'd win by rushing the archer he could reach; he stepped over the man and fired at the back of another who had designs on Bernadetta, who was preoccupied helping Raphael deal with two guys at the same time. Marianne was alternating between healing the minor injuries they were picking up here and there, and firing off spells that either incapacitated a man by freezing his arm to a tree, or knocked him off the railing into the river. Lorenz and Leonie were paired up again, tag-teaming one of the bulkier men until they could force him onto his knees and bind him with some of the rope they'd brought along.

Flayn was watching avidly, sticking close to Ignatz as he provided support to whoever needed it most in any given moment. Occasionally she would cast Nosferatu, but largely she kept in the shadow of her bodyguard as he guided her across the field to whomever needed her healing. Claude's observation was that Flayn, for all that she was physically squishy in a similar way to Lysithea, had a stupidly huge capacity for channeling magic. Once she started getting through those Reason tomes that Teach had given her, she would be able to defend herself quite ably.

“Claude! Get to Lysithea!” Byleth's raised voice was impossible to ignore; even as her demeanor softened, became more human, she was still as quiet and self-possessed as ever. Claude grabbed an arrow from his quiver and stabbed it into the side of his current opponent – causing him to double over and collapse, leaving him at Marianne's mercy – and immediately swept his gaze over the bridge, looking for the spirited white-haired girl.

When he spotted her, he saw what Teach had seen. Lysithea was fighting alongside Cyril – though maybe it was better said that she was bodyguarding Cyril while he alternated between annoying people with his arrows and looking at her with naked awe – and she was so absorbed in that task that she was forgetting to watch her own back. A bandit was rushing towards her, his ax poised to come down on her unprotected back.

Claude crossed the distance in a flash, managing to knock the weapon aside; he snarled in pain when it bit into his shoulder, sinking into the flesh and nearly scraping bone. He raised an arm and shoved it aside, nearly biting his tongue at the pain from the weapon's removal from his flesh, then raised his bow so the tip of his arrow was scraping against the man's throat.

“Shall we dance?” He asked sarcastically, and grinned darkly when the man's eyes widened.

He felt the flare of power that came from his crest moments before he let the arrow go, the force of the impact driving it right through his throat. Hot golden light surrounded the arrow as if it had been dipped in liquid flame; it spread through the man's body in the blink of an eye, pulling blood and light from it like draining a fruit of its juice. The light flowed into Claude as the bandit crashed to the ground, his skin rapidly turning gray and stony as if he had been carved from crumbling granite. Warmth flooded his veins, as pure and perfect as Recover; his body was instantly restored, the wound vanishing as though it had never been, leaving him feeling like he'd just had a long nap and a hot bath. _The glory of the Major Crest of Riegan, _Claude thought with a level of grim humor. _That stamina that can keep me fighting through storms and the hours of the night is sustained through the blood of my enemies. It's a 'gift' I'd sooner associate with the Asch, god of war, bloodshed and ruin, than the benevolent Sothis... _

“Thanks,” Lysithea said breathlessly, bringing him out of his thoughts. Claude glanced over his shoulder and frowned, noticing that her face was pale and drawn.

“Hey, retreat if you have to, okay? We can handle this,” He said while turning and taking aim at another bandit and firing. The arrow sank into his knee, dropping him and allowing Marianne to proceed to tie him up while Ignatz stood guard by her. The bandits were thinning out immensely; there were only four still fighting – desperately trying, and failing, to get past Byleth – while the rest of them either tied up and incapacitated, or had bled out on the ground.

“I'm okay!,” Lysithea protested, shaking her head. “I'm just a bit dizzy. It's nothing serious.”

“You said that at the tournament lunch, and then you ended up collapsing after you beat Annette,” Cyril interjected, a frown in his voice. “You can sit down, Lysithea. We're about done here.”

“I'm not hurt, I'm just short of breath! It's not a problem.”

Claude let out a bemused sigh and turned on his heel to go help Teach, leaving Cyril to fuss over their pint-sized powerhouse. As he took aim, he watched Byleth dodge between her two opponents, causing one to cut into the other's side. The man took umbrage at this, and forgot all about the blue-haired Ashen Demon to attack his former ally with his bare hands. Claude lowered his bow slightly and began walking over; Byleth came up short and watched serenely while the two men hammered away at each other, weakening as their wounds were further aggravated by the movement.

“Does this happen a lot?” He asked her curiously upon reaching her.

“More often than not,” Byleth explained; one of the men tried to grab the other's neck, but he was too weak at this point to properly strangle his enemy. “While I have faced bandit groups with strong bonds of loyalty, they tend to be the exception. Groups of outlaws often fall to infighting and back-stabbings because their first priority is always themselves and elevating themselves out of their current circumstances. Desperate people take desperate measures.”

“I figured that was probably it... of course, the way I've always heard it at the Round Table, you'd think it was because peasants and deserters inherently lack moral fiber.”

Byleth snorted. “I find that the more successful bandit groups are headed by someone who had enough education and leadership skills to give the local militias the slip. Since many nobles deliberately make even the basic learning of the letters expensive...” She let the sentence hang and shrugged.

Claude rolled his eyes. “It's funny how that works, isn't it?” _Everyone is expected to read and write at home; born low or high, the grandparents teach the grandchildren, and the record-keepers are two of the most respected members of the king's court. To attempt to deny someone the ability to record their family's history like that is begging for a fight. _

His Teach didn't respond to that, but he saw her lip twitch upward in agreement; something warm and buoyant settled in his chest even at that small reaction. _You're more expressive now, have you noticed? You claim to have no emotions, but that can't be true. At least...not anymore. _“Should we intervene, or should we leave them to it?” He asked casually.

That finally seemed to remind the two bandits that they did, in fact, have proper opponents; they looked up at the two young adults from where they were sprawled, bleeding, on the ground with wide eyes. Byleth shook her head. “I think they're done,” She said with a tone of finality. “The real question is if they'll surrender or bleed to death without making a conscious choice at all.”

Ultimately, the bandits chose surrender. It didn't surprise Claude much; most people decided they wanted to live when staring death in the face. Flayn patched them up, and the class worked together as a group to move the captured bandits into the prison wagon their knightly assistants had come with – as well as burying the men they'd had to kill. After that, Byleth went among her students checking them for injuries; aside from some shallow scars on Lorenz, a few ugly bruises Bernadetta picked up from close combat, and Leonie's bleeding hand – all of which were quickly dealt with – everyone was more or less uninjured. Byleth smiled, small yet warm, when she realized this; Claude tucked the memory of that expression away with the others he'd seen and picked a dizzy and protesting Lysithea up bridal style, amusing himself with her weak attempts to hammer on his shoulder.

“Well done, everyone.” Byleth said, clapping her hands together. “That was perfectly executed.”

“Expect nothing less from us!” Leonie responded cheerfully.

Teach nodded lightly in her direction before going on, “I think it's safe to say that we can take other missions like this, despite your status as students. I am...very impressed, by the amount of progress each and every one of you has made since I started teaching.” She ducked her head slightly, then added, “Clearly I need to step up my material. I'm not challenging you anymore.”

“C'mon, professor,” Hilda laughed, “you can still knock all of us flat in a fight without really trying. We have too much catching up to do still!”

“I'm not so sure about that,” Byleth retorted with a tiny smile, putting one hand on her hip. “Anyway, let us return to the inn. I think we may be able to make it back to the monastery in time for the ax tournament.”

This was met with tired but enthusiastic cheers.

* * *

Claude woke before sunrise, shaking and tense from a dream that faded into haze as soon as his eyes flickered open. He sat up in the inn bed and placed his hands on his knees, focusing on evening out his breathing. _It's been a while...but why now? _

Nightmares were nothing new to him. These days it took more to faze him enough to trigger one, but he was more than familiar with the dark places his mind could take him. The first time someone had tried to assassinate him, he'd been eight years old, abed with a fever and only partially awake when the nurse came into his room and tried to smother him with a pillow. His Crest had saved him; he'd kicked and struggled and managed to slice her wrist with a hairpin, drawing in enough power to force her hands back so he could scream for help. For so many nights afterwards, he'd been terrified of going to sleep; and when he did finally drift off, he dreamed of suffocating darkness and the nurse's curses as he fought with her.

_You little bastard! Abomination, affront to the sun and moon! Just lie there and try to die like an Almyran! _

_Never mind, _Claude thought ruefully, _that no 'proper Almyran' would passively allow themselves to be murdered if they were even slightly aware of the danger. _

After that, the next attempt had been the river....the nightmares changed then into a blend of darkness and water, the inexorable feeling of being dragged forward and under, trapped there, knowing that salvation wasn't far away but being unable to reach it no matter how much he strained and struggled. The boys' laughing and jeering was there, though far away and muted by the rushing of the waters. Sometimes the nightmare would end with him being flung over the side of a waterfall; a bit odd, since that river ended upon reaching a lake, but who said dreams were rational?

As he grew into his role – the schemer, the tactician, the social genius – the nightmares became less frequent, until they were more of an occasional reminder of potential danger and bad memories. Dodging assassination attempts or other ploys to undermine him became almost like a game; something exciting, a test of his will to achieve his dream.

Claude looked down at his dominant hand, raising it up to eye level. It was still trembling. He felt cold all over, despite the warm blankets draped over him and the fact that the windows to his suite were tightly shut and shuttered.

He tried to remember the dream, scrabbling in the darkness of his mind for some sort of context. All that he found was the flash of an image, a memory; Teach, blooded and battered yet standing protectively in front of Marianne, her relic sword pointed at an unseen enemy.

Claude rubbed his eyes and gave his head a shake. “That was...” He looked over at the dying embers in his fireplace. “...Why now...?”

...Up until they fought Miklan's Black Beast form, Byleth had seemed invincible. As unstoppable and unmovable as one of Asch's war gargoyles. The sudden reminder that she was human – that came from taking a blow meant for him, at that! – had shaken him more than he'd care to admit.

He'd...grown used to her and her quiet way of worrying about him and the others; grown to like the feeling of her curious eyes on him whenever he did or said something that caught her by surprise. He liked her spontaneous moments of blunt sarcasm and exasperation. He liked her watching in approval as he – they – practiced. He liked her sweet smile and her beautiful laugh.

He just...liked her. All of her.

Not just the Ashen Demon, a useful mercenary for his plans for Fodlan.

It shouldn't have been such a revelation...but it was. He truly felt like he had a friend. He'd had Hilda, previously, but even when he opened up a bit to her he was always, _always_ dogged by that nagging fear that as soon as she realized who he truly _was_, she'd reject him. Yet...somehow Byleth never triggered that anxiety. It was strange, because if there was anyone that might cotton on to his secret, it was her – she mentioned more than once that she and her father's mercenaries had spent not-inconsiderable time in Almyra. He'd inherited just enough of his mother's features to hide his Almyran blood from most Fodlan eyes, but someone who had regular contact with his father's people could see through it if they put their minds to it. But he was never worried. Never afraid of loosing her. Until...

_Are you hurt? _

The first thing she'd said after opening her eyes, her body aching from the Black Beast's final blow, concussed and bleeding internally from the blow that had been meant for _him_...was to ask if _he _was unharmed. _That _was the first and foremost thing she cared about, not her own injuries, not if the Black Beast was still alive...only if he was alright.

His heart raced at the thought, even now.

With a heavy sigh Claude swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, grabbing his coat and throwing it on over his nightclothes. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep when his mind was buzzing like this. Leaving his room, he made his way up the stairs and out onto the balcony so he could look up at the early morning sky.

The stars were starting to fade as the day crept closer; a cool wind whipped through his hair as he sat down on the wooden deck, leaning back on his elbows to better loose himself in the vast indigo depths so far above.

It was quiet out here; only crickets chirping and the howling of wolves breaking the silence of the night, along with the wind whistling through the trees. The inn, though luxurious, was solely the province of travelers and didn't have a village attached to it. The light of candles and flames through the windows cast orange shadows across the forest floor; eerie and beautiful in its own right. Very different from the wide open plains and rivers that he so often traveled as a child. He counted the stars he could still see until the pale light of dawn began to paint long ribbons across the sky.

Footsteps creaked on the wooden floor, drawing close to him and then pausing. “Claude?” A welcome soft voice asked. “What are you doing awake so early...?”

Claude turned his head and smiled at Byleth, who was resting her cheek against her raised hand in a disarmingly cute gesture of puzzlement. She was wearing a heavy gray overcoat over a simple black shirt and pants; both seemed a size too big for her and hung loosely off her frame. Claude was suddenly, sharply and keenly aware that likely, that was _all _she was wearing; yet she approached and knelt on the deck next to him with no self-consciousness whatsoever. “Is something wrong?” She murmured, her blue eyes lanterns in the early morning darkness.

Claude swallowed and carefully focused on a point just over her shoulder. “Nothing serious, Teach. I woke up from some dream I can barely remember, and then I started dwelling on a project I had to leave half-finished back at the monastery...got me worked up enough that I couldn't go straight back to sleep.” He shrugged lightly. “So I came up here to watch the sky.”

“A project?” Byleth repeated, tilting her head. “Is this the reason you've been falling asleep in the library so often?”

_Nah, that's because of my research into something that might well get me killed if my targets twig to the fact that I'm getting closer to them. Once I've gotten into Rhea's office and found everything I can, that's probably all I'll be able to find about the “Duscur Incident” in the church. After this I'll have to find some excuse to go into the Kingdom to continue my search... _“Nope, this was something else. I was putting together a new poison.”

Byleth blinked twice and stared at him for a moment before warily saying, “a _new _poison?”

He chuckled. “Yup! It's a colorless, odorless poison. After about two days, you'll get a terrible case of...oh, let's say stomach trouble. I can hear your silent question Teach, why the delay?” He made a little flourish with his hands. “That's just in case you don't have access to the target when you need the poison to take effect.”

Teach eyed him dolefully, not saying anything. “Naturally, I have no immediate plans for this stuff!” Claude went on a little hastily. “I just felt like broadening the old horizons a bit!” He leaned back on his elbows again. “When devising schemes, it's best to have as many options at your disposal as you can manage. Expanding those options one of my hobbies.”

“...Why such a dangerous hobby?” Byleth rested her hands on her knees, her expression softening back into honest curiosity. Claude drew in a sharp breath that he hoped was unobtrusive. The cold indifference that had once seemed like a permanent mask had kept him away from her thoughts and feelings, but now...

When she smiled, when she was worried, when she was pleased or embarrassed, she became the most open and honest person he'd ever met.

“Well, I grew up in an environment where it was necessary to think that way, at times.” He straightened up again under the weight of her gaze. “I told you before that I hadn't grown up in the sort of luxury the other nobles in our class are used to.” He hesitated, wondering how much to say – how much he _dared _say – before continuing, “ever since I was a child...I've been perceived as different. An outsider, I suppose you could say.”

“Why?” Byleth asked, frowning slightly. “You're certainly an odd one, Claude, but there's no reason you shouldn't belong anywhere you wished to be. How could anyone say otherwise?”

Claude felt his lips part in shock. _...Well, just come out and punch me in the stomach, why don't you? _“Oh, _I'm _the odd one, am I?” He retorted teasingly to cover up the way his heart raced and the warmth flooding through his veins at hearing those words spoken so bluntly and sincerely. The sky is blue, water is wet, _he belonged here_. Some whimsical part of him contemplated kissing her on the cheek; the rest of him quickly shoved the thoughts back, insisting it would give the game away. “That's a little rich coming from you.”

She rolled her eyes and brought her hand up to her cheek again. “You _are _odd,” She responded simply. “You are the strangest man I've ever met, and whenever I think I've finally gotten used to your oddness, you turn around and surprise me again.” She crossed her legs. Claude felt his gaze flicker down to her muscular thighs and quickly looked back up to her face. “You walked up to the terrible Ashen Demon, still splattered with blood from her last fight, called her a goddess and started shamelessly teasing her. If that isn't the _definition _of strangeness, I don't know what is.”

_Yeah, well, where I come from, there is nothing more desirable than a man or woman who knows their way around the battlefield. _“Well, who am I to judge people for not being like most others? That's defined me since my birth.” He shrugged. “I've been resented and hated. There have even been attempts on my life. I don't think I've earned such treatment, but that's how it goes for people like me.”

Byleth's eyes widened. “What?!” She blurted out, her whole body tensing up like a fight was about to start. “Assassination attempts?! When? Why? You've never even implied that you've been targeted before! How could I not have...? Ah, when did you last-?”

“Whoa, whoa, Teach, take it easy,” Claude interrupted, grabbing her hand. The way her other hand instinctively dropped to her hip where her sword usually was worried him; it seemed like she was ready to go out and fight some unseen opponent. “I haven't had any trouble since entering the academy. Don't worry about it.”

“Don't _worry_?!” Byleth hissed, glaring at him. She was practically vibrating with agitation, anger and something else... “You are my student and my best friend! It's my _job _to worry about you, you dunce! Who's targeting you, do you know?” The sharp edge to her voice told him in no uncertain terms that if he named names, he'd have dead bodies.

“Teach, I caught most of them,” Claude protested, squeezing her hand, both bewildered and flustered by the sheer force of her reaction. _I'm your best friend?_ “And some of them happened a long time ago. Besides, it's nothing I can't take care of myself! There's no need for you to go out on a crusade and get yourself in trouble.”

“I don't care about trouble. I've lived through plenty of trouble.” Byleth said mulishly. She did reluctantly settle down a bit. “I care about keeping you _safe_.”

He smiled in response – automatically, without thinking about it – raised her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. Her surprised squeak was well worth fighting down a telltale blush. “So that's why Sylvain calls you 'mother and murder',” He teased. She...almost _pouted _in response; at least, that's what he thought that gone-in-a-blink expression was. “It suits you.” He shrugged. “But really, people regard outsiders as a beast of sorts. It's not really surprising that some of them want us to vanish from their lives.”

Her eyes flashed. “You're not an outsider. You're Claude von Riegan.”

_...Why couldn't I meet you sooner...? _“Thanks Teach.” Claude carefully maintained his smile, not wanting that vulnerability to bleed through. “You know, in many ways I'm just a normal person like everyone else. But in the right environment, anyone can seem like an outsider.” He let go of her hand and glanced up at the sky. “It can become overwhelming. So I kept running, kept fighting.”

“That sounds lonely,” Byleth murmured.

_It was. _“Sometimes. My parents told me that I wouldn't grow up strong if I couldn't fight my own battles. So in the end, I did. And I grew up as independent and self-reliant as they always wanted me to be. Lucky me, right?”

She smiled softly at him. “You grew up well.”

_If you want to know my secrets... _“If anyone knows what I'm talking about, it must be you. Eh, Teach? I get the feeling you know what it's like to be an outsider.”

Byleth tilted her head, and pressed a finger against her mouth. Something dark settled over her expression; sadness or resignation, or perhaps both. “...It's true.”

She turned to face him again, tugging at the edges of her coat. “The first person who called me a demon was a person I'd been hired to escort. We were attacked on the road and I ended up getting stabbed in the shoulder. I kept fighting anyway, drove them off...when I turned to my client, she was horrified. She said no human could ignore that pain like it was nothing. No human could be stabbed and not make a sound. No human could cut down a dozen enemies and not feel a thing...”

Byleth rolled her sleeve up and ran a thumb over her wrist. Claude squinted for a moment, before realizing – with a flash of ice-cold shock – that there were old scars along the skin above the vein. Scars that cut sideways, scars that...that must have been self-inflicted... “I always knew something was wrong with me. I never cried, I never smiled, I never felt scared. My father is a reserved man who keeps his emotions close to his chest, but he was never _empty _the way I was. I accepted the moniker of Ashen Demon as a matter of course, though father always hated it...because how could I be human if I couldn't feel anything like them?”

She brushed her thumb against the scar again. “I've been beaten by villagers as a 'witch'; one group tried to stone me to death. I wasn't willing to take that, of course, and father ultimately had to intervene...” She sighed. “One woman poisoned me for killing her son; he'd been a part of a bandit group that the mercenaries wiped out. I actually hadn't participated in that raid, since I'd been down with a fever, but I was the one who didn't even twitch when she wept and cursed us for killing her only child...so I suppose I looked like the one who deserved it.”

“The worst part was, I couldn't resent my deficiency. It was just something I knew existed. One night...one night I wondered if I could somehow bleed out everything that was 'wrong' with me, and be the living, human daughter my father deserved.” She shook her head, pulling the sleeve down over her arm. “Of course, all I succeeded in doing was almost bleeding out and giving father an awful shock.”

“How terrible,” Claude murmured, gently placing his hand on top of her wrist. Over the scars. “...You deserved better than that, Teach.”

She let out a shaky breath, clasping his hand with hers. “I just wish-” She blurted out, then shook her head. “I...I...this – this is going to sound silly, but I think I was fated to come here. Fated to meet you. Because just by knowing you, I-I'm changing. The curse I've always lived with is – is going away. I _can _feel things now, burst by burst. It's-it's like a pot that's boiling over.”

“Isn't that a good thing?”

“_It's scaring me,_” Byleth whispered back, her fingers tightening on around his. The admission shocked him silly; he must have made quite the face, because she blushed a bit under his reaction. “It's true. I...I was hurt more than I should have been back when you came to help us save Flayn. That was because – I kept making mistakes, basic mistakes. I kept feeling things, getting lost in my own head, reacting in – in anger, and I slipped up. More than once.” She gave him a pleading look. “What's happening to me?”

“Nothing you can't learn to manage.” He promised. “Teach...if you want, I'm willing to spar with you as many times as you need. I'm good at annoying people, after all, and if you want to learn how to fight in spite of your emotions...well, there are worse places to start.”

Byleth let out a small, startled laugh and smiled. “Thank you.”

_Anything to see you smile like that, my friend, _Claude thought but couldn't quite bring himself to say.

* * *

Fortunately the trip back to the monastery was uneventful, and this time they didn't come back to discover chaos had ensued in their absence! Claude amused himself by imagining writing about his first months in the academy in a letter to his father. The old man would get a huge kick of the sheer amount of bloody chaos he'd gotten into in the heart of the Serios faith. _One more for the pile I've got already, I guess. Still need to find a way to actually get the messages across the border..._

Feeling a little distracted, his heart to heart with Byleth still on his mind, he decided that instead of going directly to bed he'd have a hot bath first.

How was he supposed to have guessed that Dimitri was there?

_C-Come now. You know I think you're quite striking. _

Claude leaned against the wall of the bathhouse, heart pounding. Part of him wanted to stay and see what he could cajole out of the flustered prince, but the other part of him wanted to flee directly to his room and lock the door. _He was watching me the whole time...what was he staring at? My scars? Or was he just looking at me? _His fingers tapped rapidly against his bow. _He turned into a stammering mess when I caught him. Why would he do that if he wasn't-_

_No, stop that thought right there, you're hoping for the moon-_

Dimitri's wide, hazy ocean-blue orbs flashed through his mind. That look had come over him when Claude had touched his bare, scarred shoulder...

_Ah, why did I do that?! What was I thinking? Oh, right, I _wasn't_, I was trying very hard to think about anything other than the fact that I was sharing a bath with someone I'm attracted to- _He clapped a hand over his mouth – as if doing so would somehow erase the admission he'd inadvertently made to himself. His chest ached painfully.

There was faint movement that he could hear within the bathhouse; Dimitri was finishing up. The urge to flee intensified immensely. _Damn it...why did it have to be him? A warm, knightly prince charming, devoted to his friends, to justice, to compassion... the last living member of the royal family. _Claude screwed his eyes shut. _He can't afford to have anything but a temporary, passing fling with another man; and Dimitri's not the type to separate sex from emotional devotion. It's silly to even contemplate it..._

_...But I _am _attracted to him. There's no doubt about that. _He huffed out a weak, quiet laugh, letting his hand drop back to his side. _Asch's blood and bones, I'm hopeless. This is the whole reason I shut everyone out of my heart. Yet he just walked through all those walls I put up like they didn't even exist with just a few sincere words... _

His grip on his bow tightened. _C'mon, Khalid. Pull yourself together. Attraction is one thing, and it's something you know plenty about. You're not about to deny being attracted to Teach, after all. You can find a way to deal with this, as you have before. Are you a schemer or what? _

The door opened, and Claude's heart nearly escaped his chest via this throat. Dimitri smiled hesitantly at him, his golden hair still damp from the water and clinging to his pale neck. He was wearing black and indigo clothes that weren't particularly familiar to the brunette; it was probably casual wear from home, given that he'd changed out of his officer's academy uniform. “Thank you for waiting,” The prince said softly. “Shall we go?”

“Sure,” Claude said, smiling playfully back at him.

They headed down the stairs and started to cross back to the monastery proper. “I'm sorry,” Dimitri said, breaking the silence. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable back there, if that's what I did.”

“Hm? Oh, come on, that's hardly what happened.” With a force of effort to keep his voice light and playful, Claude added, “It was nice, actually. I don't get admired quite so often.”

Dimitri blushed hotly, “A-Ah...truly? I admit, that's kind of surprising.”

“You're such a gentleman. How often do you notice other men to be so confident in what you see in me?”

“I...ah...I've never truly thought about it that way?” Dimitri stammered a bit. He was flustered enough that Claude was convinced of his honesty; _being the only child of the king probably meant that sort of desire would be indirectly discouraged, even before the incident... _“I-I mean...one can admire the sunset without understanding it, right?”

“I suppose that's true,” _It's also neither a yes nor a no...you're killing me, Mitya...please, don't make me ask you this directly... _“Ah, you're too easy to tease, you know that?”

“So I've come to realize,” Dimitri responded ruefully. “How went your mission?”

“Went off without a hitch,” Claude said with a smile. “It was a bit touch and go at one point, but in the end they didn't stand a chance. But did you expect anything less, with us having Teach's guidance?”

“It's true. So no one was hurt?”

“Not aside from a few scraps and bruises. Business can now safely travel to Garreg Mach! That merchant was so happy he cried; still insisted on overpaying us, too. Teach had to argue with him for a while before he stopped trying to give us most of his current wares.” Claude stretched his arms. “Flayn tried to sneak off to bed without seeing Seteth, unfortunately he was waiting for her in the front hall. I understand he was worried, but she looked like she might die of embarrassment when he started fussing over her in front of everyone.”

“He is her family,” Dimitri said, a wistful note in his voice. “He would likely worry himself needlessly if even without the kidnapping lingering in his mind.”

Claude opened his mouth to ask if he was alright when someone slammed into his shoulder, nearly throwing him off his feet. His prince grabbed his arm, catching and steadying him and allowing him to see his assailant...

It wasn't one of the knights, or one of the students from outside his class. It was an older man, pale in pallor and scarred from many previous fights. He wore dark and scruffy clothes that had dirt on the helms. But more pertinently, there was a large sack tucked under one of his arms that rattled and clinked; the tell-tale sound of clay jars knocking into each other. And the only place nearby that used that sort of jar in great numbers was...

“Are you Caspar's pantry thief?” Claude asked semi-sarcastically as he righted himself. The man was staring in wide-eyed panic at the pair of them. “Ah, it would just figure this would happen in the evening. At least the march wasn't too trying. Are you going to make us chase you?” In lieu of answering verbally, the man took off. “He's going to make us chase him. Running away from the guy possessing the Major Riegan Crest...smart. Mitya-”

“I'll go with you,” Dimitri interrupted. “Quickly, before we loose sight of him.”

They both took off in pursuit. Fortunately, the man either wasn't too fast on his feet or was being weighed down by his stolen goods, because keeping him within their sight wasn't hard despite his attempts to zigzag or hide within the trees and bushes. They nearly crashed into Edelgard when going up the stairwell; Dimitri slowed long enough to give her an explanation, leaving Claude to run ahead. The man ran past the knight's hall, went partway toward the graveyard, and then ducked toward the wall...and disappeared.

Claude skidded to a halt and stared blankly for a few seconds before his eyes adjusted to the low light of sunset. There was a hole in the wall, not unlike what he'd seen in Jeritza's office. Curious, he walked closer to it and peered down into the darkness. It was a tunnel that lead to a stairwell, and there were lights coming up from the darkness. _Another hidden passageway in Garreg Mach...ah, how many secrets does this building have? _Any thoughts of sleep were long since banished, but this gave him a whole new shot of adrenaline. _Yet another way into the building...I wonder what's down there for you, mister thief..._

“Claude?” Dimitri's voice echoed from somewhere behind him. “Where are you?”

“Over here!” He called.

To his surprise and delight, is voice drew not only Dimitri and Edelgard, but Byleth and Bernadetta as well! The group came to a stop behind him, blinking and staring at the hole in the wall. He grinned and pointed down the dimly lit passageway. “Our little friend went down this way.” He said by way of explanation.

Byleth stared at the wall for a moment before groaning tiredly. “Not this again...”

“It looks dark...and, um, dark, down there,” Bernadetta whimpered, edging over so her professor was standing between her and the entrance. “Maaaybe we should go wake Sir Alois or something...?”

“He's in a meeting with the Archbishop right now,” Byleth said, running a hand through her hair. “Of course he is. Ugh...food theft is a serious problem if we just ignore it. If he's the same person Caspar mentioned, he's been at it for a while.”

“This reminds me of something...” Edelgard mused, looking into the darkness. “There have always been rumors about secret passageways beneath the monastery, but it's hard to tell what is fanciful thinking and what might be fact. If there is a labyrinth down there, we have to keep in mind the possibility of getting lost should we pursue. He would know his way around better than us after all.”

“That's true...there's no telling where this leads,” Dimitri murmured with a frown.

Claude grinned at him. “Oh no. Oh, there's no telling what we could find down there. Terrible danger. Wicked creatures. Unspeakable smells!”

“Claude, don't wind up Bernadetta,” Byleth instructed in exasperation, over the purple-haired girl's noise of alarm and distress. “Edelgard, Dimitri, I'm going to go and try and see if we can catch up with the bandit. If we're not back in fifteen minutes, please get my father and whatever knights are still awake.”

“Please, Professor!” Edelgard responded indigently. “As if we could let you go down there with only two people for backup. With so little information, it's far too dangerous. Don't you agree, Dimitri?”

“I agree on principle, yes; considering what happened at the Rite of Rebirth and Flayn's kidnapping, vigilance is paramount.” However, Dimitri then shook his head, looking abashed. “Unfortunately the two of us happen to be unarmed right now. It limits the sort of help we'd be able to offer.”

“What's going on over here?” A new, vaguely familiar voice asked. Claude turned around to see Hannah of Jeralt's Mercenaries standing a few feet behind them, weighed down by a number of what looked like freshly repaired weapons – axes, swords and lances – wrapped in a sack. He'd seen her multiple times down in the stables; she'd helped him feed the pegasi and wyverns and was kind enough not to rat him out when he took one for a late night flight. “Kid, has something happened? Don't tell me there's been another disappearance.”

“Nothing that severe,” Byleth explained, gesturing towards the entrance-way. “However, there's been another food theft. He used this hidden passageway to escape.” She nodded toward a blanket of foliage that was set askew next to it. “He's clearly been in and out of here many times before.”

“Another one?” Hannah said, throwing her hands in the air. “By Sothis's grace, was this monastery built on top of an underground _city_?” She sighed and held out the sack so the weapons and quivers were facing them. “Well, I know that expression well enough by now. You lot come and arm yourself, and if I yell down there in half a mark and don't hear from you, I'm bringing the Captain down. Got it?”

Byleth gave the slightly older girl a grateful smile. “Of course. Thank you, Hannah.” She took out a familiar steel bow and a quiver, slinging one then the other over her shoulder; her hand easily slid down to the hilt of the Sword of the Creator, buckled at her side as always.

“My gratitude,” Edelgard said politely, taking first an axe and then a sword from the bag. “Let's not dally any more. Unless you think there's someone else we can call for right now?”

Byleth shook her head. “Most of the rest of the Golden Deer are dead to the world right now, and I doubt your other classmates are much more alert. I'm not sure we should spend the time looking around to find out.”

“Whoa, what's this professor?” _Speak of the devil and she shall appear, _Claude thought in delight as Hilda, Ashe and Linhardt all appeared from the either. “Don't tell me someone else has vanished and the knights were too polite to come get us this time?” The pink haired girl pouted while he restocked his quiver.

“Where are you going, your highness, professor?” Ashe asked worriedly. “You're taking weapons with you. Has something happened?”

“It looks like a whole lot of _something _is about to happen,” Linhardt deduced, promptly turning on his heels. “I think I'm going to go back to bed.”

“Stop right there, Linhardt.” Edelgard commanded in her best Emperor voice. The green haired boy instantly froze in his tracks, a great blanket of resignation immediately covering his whole body. “Your bad luck is our good fortune. You're coming with us to get a pantry thief."

“You can stop thinking of ways out of this, Hilda,” Claude added cheerfully when the pinkette opened her mouth to do just that. “We could use your help too. Right Teach?”

“She seems alert enough to be an asset,” Byleth replied in her usual neutral voice, but the hint of a teasing grin on her face completely spoiled the look. Hilda sulked mightily in response.

“You as well, Ashe. I'll explain on the way.” Dimitri said. Ashe, in contrast to his two companions, simply bobbled his head in acceptance and immediately went to arm himself from a very amused-looking Hannah, who seemed to be suppressing laughter.

“The more the merrier!” Claude said. Bernadetta let out a low, hopeless moan before walking over to take a bow and short sword – which was rather impressive for her, seeing as a month or so ago she would have dug her heels in and refused to take one step into the underground out of pure, frozen terror. “Let's hope we're not marching to our doom in the pits of some long-forgotten civilization.”

“_Claude,_” Byleth said in a warning tone, even as her lip twitched. He beamed back at her before turning and being the first one to step into the tunnel.

The first thing he noticed is that, very much _unlike _the stairwell in Jeritza's office, aside from some moss here and there, this tunnel was cleaned, decently maintained and well lit. Which pointed to a lot of people using it, not just one thief; and using it with some frequency to boot. Claude kept one arrow in hand as he lead the way down the steep stairs. They walked down for something like ten, maybe thirteen minutes before finally reaching a wide hallway lined with torches.

“Look at that...” Bernadetta mumbled, stepped out from behind Byleth to look around the room. “It's too big to be a tunnel...it's more like a hallway, isn't it?”

“I think you might be on to something,” Edelgard mused. “But...let's get deeper in before we jump to any conclusions.”

Byleth nodded without saying anything. In a few strides, she caught up with Claude and made a point of walking just ahead of him. He blinked and quickly realized that she was standing in such a way that if someone rushed them from the end of the hall, they would hit her before reaching him. _Teach...you don't have to protect me at your own expense. I can make my own way in a fight... _in his minds eye, he saw the scars on her wrist. ..._Let me protect you too. Please. _

The hallway quickly turned into another one, and then another one. Claude quickly noticed that there were tiles on the floor similar ones he remembered seeing in the Holy Mausoleum – they hummed with magic whenever someone stepped on them. “Remember these, Mitya?” He asked quietly, tapping his foot against one of them. A shadowy echo of his leg followed the movement, blurring precisely where he was standing and making it difficult to know where to aim.

“Indeed I do,” Dimitri said, shifting his grip on his lance. “That's worrisome.”

“Everyone, keep an eye on where you step.” Byleth ordered, tapping her fingers on the hilt of her relic sword. Bernadetta ducked forward and grabbed onto her arm, straightening up a little as though drawing strength from her professor. Byleth allowed it with small smile, taking a second to ruffle her hair without breaking stride.

They found another set of stairs, shorter than the first one thankfully, which lead them to a wide room with several pillars and a gateway through which further halls were visible. Byleth paused, tilting her head. It looked like she was listening to something, but even as he strained, Claude couldn't hear anything except for footsteps.

“Look at this place,” Bernadetta mumbled. “Doesn't it look kinda...lived in?”

Edelgard looked around. “It does seem like more than a simple passageways. It's too defensively designed. And people have clearly been moving through this place with frequency.”

“People living under Garreg Mach...” Hilda muttered; then she gasped loudly. “Oh! Holst used to tell me all sorts of stories when he was studying at the officer's academy. Stories about people who shunned the light of day, choosing to live in a maze of tunnels and hiding places underneath the monastery. He treated them like fun urban legends, but what if they aren't?! What if the...Abyss...is real?”

“That's two points for the pink-haired girl!” A boisterous voice proclaimed, snapping Claude's attention to the gateway. It slid open with a grinding screech, and a massively tall figure strode through it. It was a man in his mid-twenties, unless he missed his guess; a muscular brawler wearing an open gray overcoat and a black chain across his torso. He had little to nothing in the way of armor, aside from possibly his heavy leather pants, but that wasn't nearly as eye-catching as what was on his wrists.

Massive gauntlets that more resembled the claws of some great monster than anything meant for a human, glowing a blazing orange. They had a very, very similar shape and coloring to Byleth's Sword of the Creator. “Welcome to the Abyss, strangers,” The giant laughed, smiling the way men did when they were anticipating a fight. Claude's hand tensed on his bow.

“Identify yourself!” Dimitri demanded reflexively, also going for his lance. The prince looked a little pale, clearly coming to a similar conclusion as him. “...That uniform...”

The man eyed them for a moment before letting out a chuckle. “Welcome, curious students of the Officer's Academy! What brings such fine, upstanding surface dwellers to our humble abode?”

“We were chasing someone who stole from the dining hall,” Claude responded with artificial casualness. “You wouldn't have happened to see a shifty-looking guy with a huge sack creeping around these parts, have you?”

“Our business is no concern of yours,” Edelgard said with the calm aloofness that so often characterized her. She regarded the man with equal parts disdain and cool composure. “Do you intend to let us pass, or obstruct us?”

“Ahaha!” The _perfect _haughty noblewoman's laugh answered that question. “Such indulgence simply cannot be permitted.” Said a golden haired, well-dressed aristocratic young woman who strode through the gate to join the brawler. She tossed her head and proclaimed, “your words may fool the fool, but I cannot be so easily deceived!”

“Sheesh. Harsh, Constance...” The brawler grumbled halfheartedly.

“I, Constance von Nuvelle, shall divine your true intentions!” The blonde declared as if her companion hadn't spoken. “_You _are here by order of the church...which cruelly plots to eliminate the inhabitants of the Abyss!”

“What?! No no no no no! Never, never, nothing like that!” Bernadetta shrieked in rapid-fire protest. “We didn't know anyone was _down _here! We didn't know _anything, _we were _just _looking for a thief, we'll leave _right away_, I promise!”

Byleth put a hand on her shoulder and frowned. “There's been no talk of exterminating anyone up in the monastery,” She said flatly. “And if there _was, _we would not willing be a part of it. Why do you think that the church plans to kill any people living down here?”

“Did you say Nuvelle...?” Edelgard asked, half to herself.

The brawler tossed his head and laughed. “I don't care what the reason for this brawl is. A fight's on the menu, and I'm ready to feast! So let's get go it, huh?”

“_But we don't want to fight you!_” Bernadetta protested, her voice shooting up an octave.

“C'mon, scardy-cat,” the brawler cajoled lightly, taking a combat stance. “You've been at least one decent fight before, haven't you? There's no better way to learn what a person is like than seeing how they throw down. We'll see what your soul's made of!”

“My soul is made of yarn and endless dread! That's all there is to it, I swear!”

Claude very firmly told himself _not _to laugh at his classmate's very audible worries about the situation they were in. She would not appreciate it, and no matter how funny that mental image was, it was just a dickish thing to do.

“We have no quarrel with you,” Dimitri said, visibly bound and determined to attempt to defuse the situation. “If we are trespassing here, we will leave you be. We have not come to kill anyone.”

“Very true,” Claude said, deciding to add his voice to the choir. He could always come back when these guys were preoccupied to snoop around, after all. “We'll just pull a strategic retreat and be out of your hair.”

“Turning back already? Oh, but you'll make me so sad,” a silkly smooth voice interjected. Claude's eyes were drawn to the two newcomers. The one who had spoken was a tall, androgynously gorgeous young man with sleek purple hair, pale skin and violet eyes sharp as knives. He wore gray, purple and black, with a short sword buckled to his hip. On his wrists...they looked like fancy jeweled bracelets, but they glowed a hot orange and shimmered with a glittering rainbow of light. The boy looked in his direction and gave him a very deliberate and coy smile. “Now why would you wanna do that?” His eyes weren't smiling, though. They were cold, deliberating. “Everyone here is starved for amusement, after all the attacks we've suffered over the past few weeks. They've been waiting for a decent fight.”

“Wow, look at that.” Claude responded with exaggerated surprise. “A flawless example of a surprise attack. You're not run-of-the-mill loners, are you?”

“Claude, this isn't the time for your particular sense of humor,” Dimitri pleaded. “We have to find a way through.”

“Y-You...” Bernadetta whispered, staring. Then – greatly startling Claude (and everyone else for that matter) – she let go of Byleth's arm and took a few steps forward, her hand partially outstretched toward the boy. She stalled after a few steps and just stared. “You...? N-no...y-you can't be...h-he's gone...” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, staring at him.

“What are you on about?” The boy asked, peering at her in puzzlement. Claude watched his eyes carefully, and thus saw the flicker of shocked recognition before it was quickly shoved back behind a mask of flirtatious casualness. “I know I'm quite the sight, but there's a time and place for that, isn't there?”

Bernadetta, whatever or whoever she was thinking about (or remembering) was so deep in her head that she didn't react to that comment. Which, as far as Claude was concerned, meant that whoever this guy was, he had been fairly important to her.

“You know this girl, Yuri-bird?” The last newcomer asked. She was a girl with strikingly red hair and dark brown skin, dressed in gray, white and black like her three friends, except she wore riding boots. _I wonder how the hell they'd have horses down here, if they actually do. Those kinds of animals really don't like going underground._

“I think I might?” Yuri said with a lightness that would have fooled Claude if he hadn't spent most of his recent life listening for affectations. “Admittedly, I know a lot of people. I do know some better than others, though...” That pretty, coy, inviting smile slipped over to Byleth, who tilted her head slightly in response.

_Watch yourself, pretty boy, _Claude thought in a hot spike of indignation. To his (minor) amusement, both Dimitri and Edelgard both shot the opposing sword user death glares.

“Claude...wait...Claude, is it? As in the brand-new heir to House Riegan?” The brawler blurted out, now eyeing him with a speculative look he _very much _did not appreciate.

“Who? Me? Nah. Wrong guy. Claude's a common name in Fodlan. It's just too dashing for new moms to pass up.” _After all, it _is _the name of the knight from my mother's favorite fable, which is why it's one of my names. Father teased her a bunch over it, but she held firm. _“It's even a popular choice for fake names. It's nice, easy, rolls off the tongue...just a natural choice, yeah?”

“Right, except there's only one Claude enrolled at the academy this year,” The brawler responded smoothly, gesturing to him. “Looks like that's you.”

“Why would the guy living in the basement's basement of Garreg Mach have access to the enrollment lists?” Claude asked dryly, even as his heart skipped a beat. “I guess the Claude Harvester who works in the kitchen just doesn't exist, then.”

The brawler huffed. “I also happen to have heard that Claude von Riegan is a teenager and famously smart-mouthed. Since that suits _you _pretty well, it seems my luck has finally taken a turn for the better. So! Your choices are as follows:” He smirked dangerously at them. “line up for the beating of a lifetime...or let us lock you up like the good little boys and girls you undoubtedly are.”

Bernadetta let out a whimper of terror.

Byleth ripped the sword of the Creator out of its sheathe and swung it at the brawler, letting it split out to its full length. Yuri's eyes widened, and he grabbed the brawler and forced him to move to the side. The blade went wide – Teach hadn't been going for a killing blow; she rarely opened with one – but it would have _hurt _if it had hit. The noble girl – Constance – let out an alarmed shriek and jumped backwards into the redhead, who grabbed her and tensed up like she was trying not to vomit.

The Sword hissed as it reformed; Byleth pointed the blazing blade at the brawler's chest. “I haven't come here for a fight,” She growled, her voice dropping to a low alto that simultaneously gave Claude chills and did treacherous things to his stomach. “But if you put a single one of my students in danger, _I will split you in half._”

Yuri eyed her carefully while the brawler, now somewhat pale in the face, straightened up and took on a combat stance. Claude saw a look of honest respect in those violet pools before he nodded and responded, “I understand. Unfortunately, my own people have been suffering from attacks and indignities for a while now...so I can't back down until I discern who you are and what you want.”

He then twisted his wrist. There was a flare of Crest energy, a dark green light...and then he vanished from sight like a the shattering of a desert mirage.

_Well, _Claude thought dully though his shock as he readied his bow, _that's going to be a problem. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. I thought I knew everything that I was gonna do before the time skip, and then the Ashen Wolves had the nerve to pop up and make me fall madly in love with them. (curse you and your seductive charm, Yuri! How did you manage to tie with Dimitri as my second favorite prospect husband?! How?!) So I scrambled to rearrange a few things and insert the Cindered Shadows subplot. I'm going to have a great deal of fun with it! 
> 
> And yay, Claude is over his denial! ...At least, he's over it enough to admit he finds Dimitri attractive. Baby steps, folks. When you have a metric ton of emotional baggage, baby steps are important. 
> 
> Also!, for the sake of variety and because I think the power suits him, Yuri's Crest power is that he can turn invisible on command. His hero's relic? Well, I'll save that little surprise for the fight next chapter!


	18. Chapter 18

_I don't like this, I don't like this...! _Byleth chanted silently as she dodged past an assassin's sword and fired a point-blank arrow into his shoulder. He crashed to the ground with a tortured curse; his friend immediately abandoned his attempt to get past Edelgard in favor of kneeling and helping him. Edeglard clearly contemplated either knocking him out while he was distracted; Byleth sharply gestured for her to leave him be. “Go guard Linhardt,” She urged, turning on her heel. “There's too many opponents here.”

“Understood,” Edelgard said a bit reluctantly. “Watch out for those two; I don't want you getting stabbed in the back!”

“I know,” She responded, choosing not to point out that those two weren't fighting to kill and more interested in protecting each other than taking her out. There would be a time and place for that conversation. Her eyes panned the crowd as she ran forward, slinging her bow over her shoulder and grabbing the Sword of the Creator out of its sheathe.

Yuri's vanishing act had prompted the four initial strangers to scatter, and summoned dozens of other pale-skinned, disreputable-looking people out of the dark twisting corridors to their aide. They had to be outnumbered at least twenty to one, and two of their opponents had what might well be _relic weapons_. Constance and the other girl had vanished down the hallway, but the brawler remained at the front lines. He hadn't been shaken by her threat for very long; he'd headed for Bernadetta, but Dimitri cut him off, and while the prince was fighting defensively he was holding his own. Ashe and Claude were fighting side by side forcing the other three brawlers to keep their distance, forming a protective line in front of Linhardt who was mostly healing their injuries with Physic and occasionally throwing fireballs whenever the opportunity presented itself. Meanwhile, Hilda was guarding Bernadetta while tussling with a warrior; the diminutive archer took potshots at anyone who entered her range whenever possible.

_We only have one dedicated healer, we're outnumbered, two of our enemies have crests and compatible relic weapons, there could be traps here that we can't anticipate...argh, I should have asked Hannah to get father right away and come join us...! It's times like this that I'm grateful I devoted all that time to faith and its magic. Think, Ashen Demon; how should you proceed?_

Claude teasingly blew Edelgard a kiss when she rejoined them and threw her ax, forcing one of the brawlers to dodge and consequentially get nailed in the knee by Ashe. Byleth could almost hear the white haired princess roll her eyes in response. “Just focus on the job, won't you,” She scolded.

“Your wish is my command,” Claude laughed in response, swinging his bow across the room, one eye narrowed, before firing. The brawler, focusing on him at the expense of both Ashe and Byleth herself, dodged to the right – putting himself directly in her cross-hairs. She slammed the her sword's hilt into his helmet, rendering him dazed and dropping him.

“That was amazing,” Ashe enthused.

“What, that? I'm not even showing off yet. If you stay close you might see something real special, how about it?” Claude winked at the young archer and began prowling around the edges of Dimitri's duel with the brawler. Byleth was mildly shocked to realize the prince was actually having some trouble; she'd never see someone meet him blow for blow before. Only she really came close to matching his strength...

“Who are you people, anyway?” Dimitri asked before ducking past a swing aimed at his chest. _Not at his head, _Byleth noted. “It doesn't seem right to cross blades without knowing at least that much!”

“Wow, does it hurt to take yourself that seriously?” The redhead said disbelievingly from where she stood in the mouth of the hallway. The red-black aura of dark magic danced around her fingers; she'd taken a few potshots, but she mostly seemed to be just watching the fight unfold. She shrugged. “Answer the man's question, B.”

“Why me?” 'B' complained, then grunted in startled pain when Dimitri kicked him hard in the stomach. The impact sent him stumbling back several feet, forcing him onto the defensive as Dimitri took advantage of his disorientation. “haah, whoa, you've got a mean hook for someone so skinny.”

“I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” the prince responded firmly, before dodging past 'B''s next punch and grabbing his arm just below the relic weapon. Byleth's heart skipped a painful beat; she could see Ashe trying to aim at the brawler, but given how both he and Dimitri were circling in each other he didn't have a clean shot. “Might I know who I'm dealing with?”

The brawler let out a startled, yet boisterous laugh, twisting around and leveraging his position so Dimitri will loose his grip without directly challenging the other boy's strength. “The holy prince himself, down here in the dark with us abandoned rats? Now there's a tale!” He grinned. “We're the Ashen Wolves. The secret four house in the Abyss. The surface world turned its back on us, and we did the same in return. Back for a back, as they say.”

“A fourth house? Impossible...” Edelgard said, baffled.

Hilda, meanwhile, screwed up her face in concentration as she stared at the brawler. “Professor...I swear, I know this wild man from somewhere...”

“You do-?” Byleth shook her head. “Ah, save it for afterwards. Focus on the fight.” Then she darted toward Dimitri.

The prince saw her coming out of the corner of his eye and smiled. 'B' was clearly tipped off by that, because he stopped trying to put Dimitri in a grappler's hold and stepped back, avoiding the first swing of the Sword. Dimitri swung his lance up and then across; 'B' dodged the first hit but not the second one which caught him upside the head. He stumbled back a step but kept his grounding very well; he was a veteran fighter, one who enjoyed the struggle. Byleth could match him blow for blow if she was fighting to kill...however, she didn't _want _to kill him; something was going on here that they knew nothing about, and tragedies were built on that which was not spoken.

And if the behavior of their first few opponents was anything to go by, the...Ashen Wolves...weren't trying to kill them either. However, Byleth was in no mood to allow herself to be beaten unconscious and tossed in a cage, and more importantly she had no intention of allowing her students to be violently manhandled by a bunch of trigger-happy sewer rats.

'B' punched Dimitri in the shoulder, throwing him back several feet. Byleth's blood pressure spiked as she narrowly ducked out of the way of a punch aimed at her. A bloody, burning _heat _washed over her skin as the gauntlet passed by; a radiation so similar to the Sword of the Creator she swore she felt her weapon pulse in response to its presence. Dimitri landed well, rolled onto his knees and forced himself back to his feet; Ashe and Claude both took shots at 'B' after she dodged past his next to strikes, trying to buy herself enough room to bring her sword up without impaling him on impact.

“Not bad, not bad!” 'B' said with a disarming cheerfulness. Byleth had the sense that the compliment was genuine, rather than the odd brand of frustrated sarcasm she'd heard many times before. “Come and get some, kiddo!”

“I'm twenty,” Byleth retorted flatly, swinging the blade out so it split apart, just barely missing 'B' and tearing up the floor behind him. She grimaced and noticed that their conflict had resulted in him stepping onto one of the enchanted parts of the floor. His image blurred and shuddered when she looked at him, as if she was drunk or drugged up with something strong.

“C'mon, you're too pretty to be so serious.” 'B' responded brightly, not the least bit deterred by a glare that had sent enemies fleeing into the woods for their lives. “You're that mysterious new professor aren't you? So many people were talking about you, the news drifted down here. Makes me wish I hadn't graduated!”

_When did I become 'pretty' instead of 'disturbing', 'corpselike', or 'demonic'?, _Byleth wondered in pure bewilderment. Dorothea had called her pretty, Mercedes had called her pretty, Sylvain had called her pretty, Professor Manuela had called her pretty...where were all of these compliments coming from? Why weren't they disturbed by her like everyone else? “Are you trying to distract me?” She asked, finally deciding to voice this confusion.

“Nah, that's more Yuri's style. I just call it as I see it!” 'B' said, throwing another flurry of punches; not so much aimed at taking her out as they were meant to keep her from using her sword. _He's twigged to the fact that I'm holding back..._ She frowned a bit. _More Yuri's style? Ah, that's just what I need, fighting a Claude who can turn invisible... _

Dimitri rejoined her, swinging his lance and forcing 'B' to break off his current stalemate with her. “Stand down!” He snapped in audible frustration. “This battle is meaningless!”

“No can do,” 'B' said sharply, his humor fleeing and replaced with something colder and harder. “No offense, but I'm not sure I dare bring the _Holy _Prince of Faerghus down into Abyss where those who fled the church take refuge.”

“I'm no threat to refugees!” Dimitri sounded like he couldn't decide whether to be outraged or mortified. Byleth shot him a meaningful look, one that she hoped conveyed 'don't loose your cool' without saying as much out loud.

An arrow whisked past her cheek, missing her by a few inches, and slammed into the brawler's upper shoulders. The man let out a strangled curse, his punch going wide as the shock hit his arm; Dimitri promptly slugged him in the face and kicked his leg out from under him as he careened backwards. Byleth quickly knelt on his chest, pinning one of his arms and pressing the blade of the Sword near his neck. Not deep enough to bite into him, but close enough that the heat radiating off it warmed his skin and fear briefly flashed through his dark eyes.

“Stay down,” She growled low in her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ashe clasp his hands together, impressed, while Claude strolled forward with a pleased grin. 'B', thoroughly winded, couldn't do much but let out a tortured groan of acknowledgment. “Hilda, can you tie him up?”

“With what?” The pinkette protested, peering down at him from over her shoulder. “Who carries three coils of rope around when they're taking a midnight stroll? You don't have any, do you?”

“Then someone has to stay and guard him,” Byleth explained, keeping a wary eye on the redhead and warriors who had rushed up to the mouth of the hallway. Bernadetta eyed their downed opponent with blatant mistrust and stuck to her side. _Not that I would choose her to do it. If he slipped any bonds we put on him, he could overpower her easily just by virtue of how much he outweighs her. The Major Crest of Indech is superhuman accuracy and 'multi-shot', not strength. _“Any volunteers?"

Dimitri looked torn, glancing between 'B' and the hallway. Edelgard sighed, and opened her mouth to say something when she was cut off by a worried cry of “Balthus!” from the redhead at the other end of the hall. The girl clenched her fists, seemed to come to some sort of decision...she gestured sharply at the men behind her and then stepped back.

Byleth's first instinct was that she possessed some sort of siege magic, like Meteor or Bolting. Mages who knew them were comparatively rare, but they were a nightmare to fight against without some sort of dedicated countermeasure – of which they had none. “Get ready to run,” She warned the others, tensing up and shifting so she was standing light on her feet.

As if on cue...the ground startled rumbling. Byleth's head jerked upward, for a split-second fearing she'd see dust falling down as a prelude to part of the ceiling giving way. _Wait...no, there are no cracks in the ceiling plaster. That's not what's – _the ground shuddered again, more violently, almost directly under her feet. _Oh, I don't like that! _“Scatter!”

Her students dove in every direction. Byleth just barely managed to hit the ground, roll and get back to her feet just before the floor not far from 'B' – Balthus – erupted upward, spraying chunks of stone in every direction. A large, serpentine, spindly body twisted and writhed as rose from the ground; a monstrous creature screeched as it rose to its full height, swinging its head around as it jumped from one person to the next. The torchlight caught on its desert-yellow scales and its massive, gaping mouth; it looked like some sort of combination between a snake and a worm. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her, but Byleth was fairly certain the monster had three rows of teeth, each as long as a serrated short sword.

“You've got to be kidding me!” Claude blurted out, quickly drawing two arrows and firing at the creature's head.

“What _was _that?” Linhardt demanded, staggering backward and quickly lunging behind Dimitri who'd grabbed an abandoned rusted javelin off the ground and thrown it at the beast's midsection. “That can't have been a summoning spell – I couldn't see her using magic!”

“Focus on healing now, theorize later!” Edelgard barked, giving Ashe a push before throwing herself in a different direction. The beast had coiled back and brought its head down on the ground where they had been standing moments later.

“I haven't seen anything like this before!” Claude complained. He sounded more startled than actually worried, which was a bit comforting. “And I've been on the edge of the Forest of Beasts!”

Movement flickered in the corner of Byleth's eye. She turned her head, looking just past the wyrm monster to where Balthus lay; he was trying to sit up, visibly wheezing. Cursing, she started to make her way back toward him, dodging past the beast's tail in the process. She managed to get several feet away from him when a flicker of dim reddish light appeared next to him; and like the shifting of a mirage Yuri melted out of the shadows in a flicker of green Crest energy, placing his hand on Balthus's shoulder.

He looked up from his friend and gave her a look that...honestly, even though she saw it for a split second, she felt it looked familiar. It looked like the same speculative, calculated look she had seen behind Claude's smile in that very fight where she had met him.

Then the intricate jeweled fetters on his hands lit up with bright orange light, and both he and Balthus vanished in a flash. Byleth came to a stop, allowing herself only a split second to be startled before wheeling around to face the monster again. _That reminds me of how the Death Knight would vanish from the battlefields we faced him at...he can turn invisible _and _warp around the battlefield? Oh, I _really _don't like that...! _

“Get back!” Bernadetta shrieked, dropping into a bracing stance. There was a light silver flare around her and a flash of a sigil; that light then surrounded her bow, and the one arrow she loosed multiplied into three – no, five ghostly doubles – and smashed into the beast's scales, piercing multiple places in its magical barrier and burrowing into what Byleth tentatively figured was its chest. “Ahaha! I got him!”

“Well done!” Byleth yelled back, smiling to herself before unfurling the Sword of the Creator and focusing her Crest power through it. Just like when she'd fought Miklan's warped beast form, the blade caught fire as she swung it once, twice, three times against the creature's back; she could hear a warped _crash_ as the barrier splintered and then shattered. Claude took aim himself and fired off an arrow, managing to catch the creature through its mouth. It screeched and spat black blood, splattering a mortified Bernadetta who Edelgard quickly pulled her to the side.

The creature's tail broke out of the ground and lashed at Byleth; she rolled out of the way, allowing Dimitri an unimpeded killing blow. The prince jumped onto the creature's lower 'tail', allowing him to aim and throw his lance so it stabbed through the creature's head and into its brain, impaling it and killing it instantly. It fell to the ground with a thundering _crash_.

_Well, _Byleth mused. _If that doesn't send Hannah sprinting for father and possibly the other mercenaries in the bargain, I can't imagine what would. Honestly I wonder if that racket can be heard further up in the monastery._

Turning to the hallway had revealed that the redhead had retreated. Her two companions hadn't, and they retreated with shouted warnings when the creature didn't move after Dimitri stepped back onto the floor. “Goddess willing, she won't try that again,” Linhardt wheezed, casting a quick Heal on the prince. “What is that thing?” He peered down at the monster's corpse, prodding its scales with his boot. “Hmm, interesting...I wonder what could be learned from studying the scales. The other monsters have been harvested for precious metals. Perhaps this one would yield new possibilities for the blacksmith; if we can get it up to her later.”

“The places your mind goes...” Edelgard huffed in exasperation. “Might we focus on the problem at hand, Linhardt?”

“I don't think they'll call for another one, if that is what happened,” Claude said in a very matter-of-fact way. He'd calmed down remarkably fast after that nasty surprise. “Too much of a risk of drawing attention, or bringing the ceiling down on all of us. Neither are very conductive to keeping a low profile as these guys clearly have.”

“How is everyone?”

“We're fine,” Hilda said urgently. “C'mon, they're going to get away!”

“I don't think they have any interest in leaving without us in tow,” Byleth muttered, stalking forward. The beast's appearance had drawn some memories to the surface that she would rather have left alone, and now that she was reassured, she could feel anger bubbling in her blood. “But you're right. I'm going to get answers for this if I have to beat them out of someone...!”

_Byleth, _Sothis said, her tone somehow both cautious and warning.

_What?, _she 'thought' back as she put her relic sword away at her belt and slung her bow off of her shoulders. She nodded at Hilda and the two of them went ahead into the passageway, Claude and Ashe following at their heels arrows at the ready.

_About that monster...did you notice? _She could almost see Sothis hovering next to her, arms crossed, frowning into the dim tunnels. _It was ignoring you at the start, even though you were just a few feet away from it. For that matter, it was ignoring 'B' as well, despite the fact that he was easy prey. When it first rose from the ground, after it attacked Ashe, it turned back toward this tunnel – back toward that girl who called it._

_...What?! Who would summon a monster if it would immediately turn on them? _Two assassins burst out of the ground from behind a corner. Hilda brought a lance up to catch the sword and force him into a blade lock; Byleth dodged to the side and fired an arrow point-blank into the man's arm, causing his swing to go wide.

_Someone who wanted to force you away from their friend? And possibly scare you off in the bargain? _Sothis suggested pointedly. _You just witnessed that boy Yuri turn invisible. I find it quite likely these lost children have other abilities that haven't seen the light of day in a long time. _

Byleth ducked under the man's punch and tossed him back over her shoulder. He crashed to the ground and was promptly set on by Edelgard, who pinned him. _A power that summons monster? Or at least draws them to her... if that's true, I can see why she's hiding down here. _

There was a flicker of light in the corner of her eye. Byleth twisted to her right, frowning for a moment...before her eyes widened and she grabbed Bernadetta's arm. “Down!” She yelled, dropping to her knees. The archer squeaked and obeyed instantly; moments later, a blast of Miasma flew over them, smashing uselessly against its wall. Edelgard swore and jumped backwards-

-right into Yuri, who melted out of the darkness in time to trap her arms against her side, and pressed a long dagger against her throat. Edelgard tried to kick and elbow him, but he simply yanked her off-balance, invalidating her crest-boosted strength. “Sorry about this,” He said mildly.

Byleth shut her eyes and reached for Sothis's power. Time slowed to a crawl, and then froze; glass shattered at the corners of her vision as the rune-laden circle appeared before her again. _I don't think so, _she thought heatedly, turning time back second by second. She kept a careful eye on the direction from which Yuri appeared, occasionally glancing at the Miasma attack as it moved. _He was lying in wait for us...probably left Balthus with a healer and doubled back to set up an ambush. Oh, he is going to be a problem-_

_-Wait. _She paused in her movements, allowing time to remain completely suspended as she turned fully to stare at the partially-visible Yuri. _His wrists are glowing...no, it's that bracelet. _His invisibility was hiding it, mostly, but there was a telltale orange-red glow by his side. _Can I use that to find him? If he can't extend his invisibility to that light, it will probably be my only warning he's nearby. He doesn't seem to need to drop the 'cloak' in order to attack. _Giving herself a brief nod, she turned the clock back another few seconds and then released her grip on time.

“Watch the arrow slits in the wall!” She shouted. Edelgard glanced at the wall, swore Old Fodlanese and jumped backwards; Bernadetta came up short in her run, her bow swinging toward the wall. Moments later, the Miasma spell crashed through one of the shadowed gaps in the wall just as she remembered, crashing harmlessly into the wall.

Byleth's eyes panned the hallway, but saw no light. Thinking fast, she unfurled the Sword of the Creator and then swung it in a wide arc so the blade tore a long semi-circle across the floor from one wall to the next. She heard a muffled curse, but saw nothing but a faint flicker of the orange light dart from the wall to midway through the hall before it winked out.

“Damn it,” She muttered.

“Teach? Er, what was that for?” Claude asked blankly, swinging around and firing into one of the holes in the wall. Linhardt threw a fireball at the bigger slit, causing part of the wall to crumble away – giving the three archers much more room to work with.

“Countermeasure against our invisible friend,” She explained shortly, still looking around warily. “Keep an eye out for a small sphere orange light that looks like its moving. He could be on us at any moment.”

“Right,” The brunette sighed, striding past her. She moved to grab his arm – Hapi was still in range, harassing Dimitri and Edelgard as they tried to pass by the wall – but he shrugged in a way that made her pause. Dimitri was sporting a nasty-looking magic burn that was worrying her; fortunately, Linhardt was already moving to tend to it. “Don't hold this against me, okay?” He asked loudly.

Byleth swore she heard a voice on the other end of the wall start to say 'what the h-' when Claude spun around and fired two arrows through the broken slit at an angle. She heard a shriek within; it worried her for a moment before it was followed up by a flood of tortured, angry cursing in a heavy accent as opposed to a guttural, dying groan. _It sounds like the redhead. Hopefully that's her taken out. _“Good shot,” she said with admiration. Claude preened in response.

Ashe hurried to catch up, casting a wary look at the wall as he moved past it. Reaching the edge of the corner, he peered around it slightly for a moment. Then he hooked up an arrow, swung around and fired, then retreated backward. A blast of fire magic blew through the hall and hit the stone wall, missing him completely.

“Ashe?” Linhardt asked tiredly but with concern.

“I'm fine,” The young archer assured him. “The hallway here's narrow, there's just two armored knights and a mage waiting. Beyond that is an open chamber and another doorway; I think the rest of them are holed up back there.”

A long clang behind them made everyone spin around. Dimitri had been ambushed by a pair of warriors, one of whom had broken his lance; the other one grasped his arm and pinned it to his back. Cursing, Byleth froze time again, dialing it back a number of seconds to before their approach.

Now ready, she clasped Ashe's hand as she ran past him and threw him a smile, running back to join Dimitri. Edelgard called after her, but she barely heard; even as the princess spoke, she saw the two warriors pop out of a hole in the wall. “Dimitri, behind you!” She warned him loudly, tossing a sword one of the assassins dropped at him.

Dimitri didn't question it; he caught the sword by the hilt and spun around. When Byleth reached his side, he blocked the first ax strike and forced the weapon away with his follow up. She notched an arrow and fired over his shoulder; it grazed the man's weapon arm, causing him to stumble a bit – allowing Dimitri to focus on his companion, who was charging him.

“Professor, down!” Edelgard's voice echoed from behind her. Byleth dropped to one knee instantly; a hand ax whipped over her head and slammed into the man's chest plate, embedding itself there. Calling back a quick 'thanks', Byleth strung another arrow and shot out the man's knee as he staggered, dropping him to the floor.

Edelgard appeared at her side, offering her a hand up. Byleth glanced at Dimitri, saw him bring the sword down on the man's ax hard enough to split it in half, and accepted the hand with a wry smile. “Nicely done.”

“Why thank you,” Edelgard replied, looking pleased. Byleth took out another arrow and glanced over her shoulder; Claude, Hilda Bernadetta and Ashe were in a fight at the base of the hallway with those three enemies; Hilda was more-or-less using herself as a human shield, hacking away at the armored units with her ax while protecting her comparatively squishier allies from their advance; Ashe and Bernadetta were taking shots from just behind her, taking the mage out while Claude applied a concoction to her injured shoulder.

Linhardt was standing in the middle of the hallway, looking torn. Byleth followed his gaze to where Dimitri was wincing and clutching his arm and called, “I'll take care of Dimitri, Linhardt; go help them take out those armor knights!” The green-haired bishop nodded and rushed off.

Dimitri walked toward her, a rueful smile on his face. “Thank you, Professor. You must have ears like a fox to have heard them approaching us like that...I certainly didn't.”

“It's not hearing so much as paranoia. Most mercenaries have it.” She focused on the ragged scar along his upper arm and willed the healing magic through it. As she worked, she noticed that the sword in his hand had a visible crack in the blade; she raised an eyebrow at him.

His expression grew sheepish. “I don't know if Felix has told you, but I have a this...tendency to break weapons, especially when I invoke my crest – even slightly.”

“I wasn't sure how serious he was being,” Byleth responded wryly. “And there's a difference between being told that someone is strong enough to snap a steel sword with their bare hands, and seeing them do so.” Honestly, she shouldn't have been so surprised considering what he did to the Death Knight's strange weapon. But there was just something incongruous about seeing him fracture a sword without even meaning to.

The wound sealed up neatly, without a scar. Dimitri tugged at his coat to better cover up the newfound hole in his leather armor and nodded fiercely, “Let us go rejoin them, quickly.” He retrieved his lance from where he'd dropped it and the three of them rushed back to the other end of the hallway.

“That's _enough!_” Hilda shouted when the armored knight – his once pristine shield sporting multiple cracks in it – took a swipe at Bernadetta, snapping her bow and coming within an inch of cutting her fingers off. Her Crest flared to life, and she brought the hand ax down on the man's chest. The armor cracked and then _shattered _like breaking the shell of an egg; the steel slid off and clattered to the ground as the impact threw the wearer backwards and to the ground (likely breaking his ribs and causing some internal bleeding in the process). “Are you alright, Bernie?”

“I-I-I'm okay,” Bernadetta stammered, trembling from head to toe. Claude put a steadying hand on her shoulder while Ashe hovered in worry. “I saw it coming...just barely.” She put a shaking hand on the hilt of her killing edge and drew it. “I-I'll just use this now. Just like the professor taught me.”

“You're alright?” Byleth said, just to check. The purple haired girl nodded, raising her sword. “Good,” she breathed out, then glared down the hallway. “I'm just about done with this...just Constance and Yuri remain...I don't doubt that they're the leaders. Let's concentrate on them; take the others out if they get in your way.”

“We'll have to _catch _Yuri,” Claude noted. His tone was dry, but his eyes were alight with furious thought. “Hm, he appeared us after we knocked out 'B' and after Hapi attacked, right? If that's the case...” he hummed and then said, “Hey Teach, I've got an idea...not sure if you'll like it, though.”

He told her, and he was right – she really didn't like it. (It rather looked like Dimitri and Hilda didn't like it, either.) However, she also didn't have any better ideas for catching their elusive opponent. So with reluctant acceptance (and the knowledge that Claude _usually _knew what he was doing...) Byleth lead the way down the hallway and out into the spacious room it lead to.

A cursory glance at the walls and floors made her think that the room had used to be a training arena; there were glowing tiles scattered across the floor, old rusted racks on the walls, and was wide enough to accommodate a large number of people sparring with each other. Standing on the tiles were a pair of warriors, another archer, an assassin...and Constance, who's hands were lit up with the yellow-black haze of Black Magic. Byleth strained to look past her, and could just barely make out a couple more figures moving about just beyond the doorway.

“To think you've made it this far!” Constance let out an exaggerated laugh that greatly reminded Byleth of both Ferdinand and Lorenz, particularly when they were feeling dramatic. (...which was often...) “You are no ordinary church lackeys, that is for sure!”

“That's because we're _not _lackeys! No-one made us come here to hurt you!” Bernadetta yelled back, waving her sword with a surprising amount of vehement frustration. “L-Let's just _stop this _now! We can just talk, can't we?!”

“Humph! A likely story,” Constance scoffed. “The first mercenaries to come here claimed to be fleeing from the surface, and then used our charity to take children hostage! Such base deception shall not avail you! Have at thee!” Her hand flared, a bolt of golden light in the image of a spear flying upward.

“_Bolting!_” Byleth yelled before hurtling herself forward, hoping the one word was enough of a warning. Moments later, a muted _crash-crackle _burst against the floor behind her, filling the air with ozone – much weaker than the siege magic she'd faced before. _Still holding back, despite us defeating Balthus and the redhead...they must really want answers for these invasions. _The lack of screams told her that her students had managed to scatter. Swinging back up to her feet, she called “Ashe!” and thrust the Sword of the Creator at the assassin in front of her. The man blocked it, leaving his back wide open for Bernie to bring her sword down on him. He dropped with a scream, and Bernie scrambled away while Linhardt knelt to ensure he didn't die, babbling 'sorry!' as she dodged past a fireball from Constance.

Ashe darted to her side, taking a potshot at the warriors Claude and Dimitri were demolishing in tandem; _they're showing fairly decent teamwork, considering they've only fought on the same battlefield two or three times. _“A plan, professor?” He asked hopefully.

She nodded shortly and briskly before delivering a couple of rapid-fire orders. “Edelgard, stick near Bernadetta, give her cover! Hilda, watch out for Linhardt; Lin, focus on healing, you can't do enough damage fast enough! Claude, keep Constance away from Dimitri!” It was a big dangerous, implicitly drawing attention to the prince's lack of resistance to magic, but she trusted Claude to protect him. Plus, as long as Constance was looking elsewhere...

Ashe glanced questioningly at her. Byleth smiled lightly at him before quietly saying 'I need you to cover me. Watch out for orange light; that's Yuri approaching'. His expression lit up in spite of his serious nod, and he strung up two arrows. Nodding confidently, Byleth dove forward, jumping over the fallen body of the assassin Lin had patched up and making her way directly toward Constance. The latter was standing with his back to her, throwing fireballs in Dimitri's direction. However, the latter was keeping out of her range while Claude forced the blonde girl to keep back with a continual volley of arrows. Edelgard was trying to bait out the archer standing in the doorway, but the man was savvy enough to keep his distance so long as Constance was controlling the room.

“You are of noble stock!” Constance proclaimed, turning her attention to Edelgard. Byleth ducked past an arrow, narrowly keeping herself out of the blonde's vision. Ashe fired back at the archer, forcing him to divert his attention away from the princess now standing in the mage girl's cross-hairs. “Pray tell, what is your name?”

“I am Edelgard,” Edelgard pronounced calmly, spinning her ax around in her hand.

“What a fine name; the same as the imperial princess! That might be a bit presumptuous, isn't it though?”

“That is...” Edelgard started, her expression blank. Then she sighed. “Well, I suppose if you've been down here for some time, you wouldn't recognize me on sight.”

“How unseemingly! To proclaim that I, Constance von Nuvelle, would be unable to recognize royalty standing right in front of me! Why, I ought to – AH!”

Byleth slammed the hilt of her relic hilt into her back, right between her shoulder blades; not too hard, she was a slender girl and the demon didn't want to do her any serious lasting harm. Constance screamed and collapsed to her hands and knees; Bernadetta darted forward and kicked her in the shoulder before wrestling the taller girl to the ground with another surprising splash of unusual determination that ended with Constance pinned face down on the ground with Bernadetta kneeling on her back – panting and red-faced. Ashe took another shot at the archer, this time catching the man in the arm; making him drop his bow.

Claude headed forward, spinning an arrow between his fingers as he made his way over to the doorway. “I think this is the second-most awkward misunderstanding I've ever been in,” He complained. “And I woke up on Count Gloucester's couch nursing a hangover with his niece asleep on my legs.” He rolled his eyes at Dimitri's scandalized noise. “It was perfectly innocent cohabitation, thank you _very much_ Mitya; she was afraid of the thunderstorm and I told her 'uncultured' jokes until she fell asleep. If I hadn't been half-drunk, I would have had the sense to carry her back to her room.”

Without breaking stride, he darted across the doorway entrance, spun around and stabbed the assassin who had intended to skewer him while he was whimsically approaching the last phase of the battle with an arrow. “_This_ is less awkward?” Bernadetta asked plaintively, trailing after him up to the doorway; Linhardt took her place keeping Constance pinned. Her hands were shaking. “Oh, I'm glad that I stayed home instead of going to all of those awful balls and parties...”

There was an orange flicker right behind her as she spoke. Claude, having seemingly been taking point at the doorway to pick off the remaining underground soldiers, grabbed the smaller girl and yanked her forward, putting himself between her and the flicker. He brought his hidden ax up just in time to catch the sword aimed at his shoulder and catching it in a blade-lock. Rather than letting that keep him still, Claude lashed out and kicked at the air in front of him. Byleth heard a grunt of pain before the air flickered and shimmered, partially revealing Yuri and the short sword in his hand.

Yuri let out a disarmingly warm chuckle. “Not bad,” The beautiful street rat complimented, sincerely. “Not a lot of people see me coming.” His armlet lit up again, warping him away – and standing where he had been was a mage, who jumped backwards to avoid the downward swing of his ax. Dimitri rushed to tackle the man while Yuri reappeared behind Claude, wrapping one arm around his neck to press a knife against it while taking care to pin his arms.

Claude responded to that by tugging at his sleeve, whipping out a concealed dagger over his own and stabbing Yuri in the side of the leg. The light violet-haired teenager cussed with very street-level tact – Byleth heard three words that she usually associated with bar fights, and two she hadn't heard before and made a mental note to look up – and loosened his grip just enough for Claude to wrench his arm free, grab Yuri's wrist and force the knife away from his throat.

“Leave my mother out of this!,” The brunette said hotly before delivering a violent kick to the leg he'd injured. Yuri drew back a step – but not before slashing the length of Claude's arm, making him instinctively drop his ax.

“Sorry,” Yuri responded; again sounding oddly sincere. “That was crude of me.” He swung his hand and threw the short dagger; Claude dodged to the side easily, leading him away from Bernadetta in the process. “You're light on your feet for your average noble scion.” There was definitely sarcasm on the word 'noble'.

“Is that what you think?” Claude replied with a coy smile. Byleth felt an odd spike of annoyance watching him grin like that at a stranger. “You might be assuming a bit much there.” He casually grabbed his bow and stringing up an arrow. Yuri took a step back in a battle stance and vanished once again in a flicker of light.

Claude's eyes flickered down to the floor; ignoring a worried Hilda calling his name, he moved his arrow across the room...and then fired. The arrow grazed past Yuri's side, causing his glamour to drop again. Byleth realized with a thrill that he'd used the drops of blood on the floor to guess at where the other teen was moving.

Her thoughts were quickly interrupted by a grappler charging after Bernadetta; she darted off to help, trusting her best student to keep the wild card in hand. Dimitri, Edelgard and Hilda were clashing with the few remaining warriors. Byleth slammed into the man's side as he tried to overwhelm Bernadetta and her killing edge, throwing him off balance. Bernadetta quickly hit him in the face with the hilt of her sword, bruising his nose and knocking him on his ass. A mage was heading towards them; Byleth dissipated his first blow with the Sword of the Creator and prepared to try and charge him...

“Claude, be careful!” Dimitri warned from somewhere behind her. Byleth twisted to look over her shoulder and saw Claude favoring his bloody arm while trying to put Yuri in a headlock to keep him from vanishing again. However, Yuri wormed his way free despite his bleeding thigh and vanished again...

Gritting her teeth, Byleth made a decision and froze time once again. _What is it about you that makes you attract clever boys?, _Sothis wondered as she turned time back a few seconds. _I think those two would try to outfox each other until they collapsed from blood loss, neither willing to concede. _

_I would rather they _didn't _bleed themselves into a coma on my watch, _Byleth responded dryly. _And how am I 'attracting' them? _

_...Truly? _Sothis said with a note of incredulity, before letting out a burst of musical laughter. _Oh, my poor child. I do hope I can explain this to you plainly when we have a moment. _

Byleth gave the spirit/ghost a look she hoped was properly indigent (she saw the look often enough on Hilda's face) before letting time restart again. She promptly handed Bernadetta her bow and two arrows from her quiver; the girl didn't have time to let out much more than a startled squeak before she spun around to face the direction where Claude had grabbed a hold of Yuri, forcing him to be temporarily visible again.

She lashed out with the sword one more time – not to strike the violet-haired boy, that was too dangerous with Claude holding him the way he was – instead, she aimed for his sword. The whip-blade wrapped around the silver weapon, catching it in a crude but firm grip; Byleth then yanked back with all the might she could muster, wrenching the weapon out of his hands.

Yuri let out a heady laugh; “Impressive,” He said between heavy breaths. “I haven't had anyone see through my little quirk...well, in a long time. However-” His hand flared with white magic. Claude let out a pained curse as Nosferatu hit him in the face, causing him to stumble and collapse, bringing Yuri down with him. The street rat pushed himself up by the wrists and smiled a bit, “I've got a few tricks up my sleeve too.”

Claude's hand vanished into his boot; Yuri seemed to notice this and he quickly pinned the arm to the floor. “Two concealed knives?” His voice was almost a purr, almost playful instead of ominous. “I think I might like you, Riegan.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” Claude retorted, though his breathing was pained; his arm still bled sluggishly and he was clearly bruised both from the fall and earlier fights. Byleth could still see his brain whirling, looking for another angle...

...Which promptly proved unnecessary when Jeralt cut across the room and grabbed Yuri by the collar, yanking him up and off his feet as if he weighed no more than the kittens Byleth had so often played with in inns and restaurants. “That's enough,” Her father said in his cool, matter-of-fact way. “Your wasting all those street smarts on someone who isn't your enemy.”

“Is that a fact?” Yuri countered, though his voice lacked heat and accusation.

Jeralt gave him a flat look. “I suggest you quit struggling before you tear that wound in your thigh and put yourself in a _real _problem. You can thank your Crest for the fact that you aren't dizzy from blood loss at this very moment.”

The boy seemed to consider that for a long moment, before raising his hands in surrender. Constance, upon seeing that, ceased struggling against Linhardt and lay limp with a whimper.

“Father,” Byleth said, a warm flicker of relief pooling in her stomach. She dropped the sword to the ground and hurried to kneel next to Claude, helping him sit up. “Hold still, Claude...tell me what hurts...” Hannah had arrived right behind him, pointing her lance warningly at the tired, battered yet determined men and women they'd defeated who'd made their way over to the chamber.

“Captain Jeralt,” Dimitri said; his relief was much more audible as he approached. He gave her father a quick bow before kneeling at Claude's other side, watching Byleth heal him. Edelgard walked over, bruised, dirty, and somewhat bloodied but otherwise unharmed, watching the scene through analytical eyes. Bernadetta trotted over to Byleth and half hid behind her...all while staring at Yuri. _She was always watching him, whenever she could see him. What's going on here? _

“It's good to see you, sir,” Ashe said gratefully. He looked pretty battered and dirty, but there was no blood on him. He'd been kept quite safe. A harried-looking Hilda joined him, frowning down at the broken, soot-covered ax in her hand. “Things were getting a bit precarious!”

Jeralt gave him a bemused smile. “Is that right? You lot seemed to have handled yourselves pretty well, for how outnumbered you were.” He waved at Linhardt. “Come over here and heal up his leg before he has to have it amputated, will you? I've got a hold of him, don't worry.”

Linhardt eyed Yuri uneasily for a second before obeying; Edelgard's eyebrows shot up at that, but she didn't comment.

“'M alright now, Teach.” Claude said as she wrapped her arms around him, helping him stand up. “Really, I can walk. Just needed to catch my breath.”

“You were amazing,” Dimitri told him seriously, smiling warmly. “The way you kept track of Yuri even when he moved around...”

Claude shrugged, but the way his eyes sparked told Byleth that he was very pleased. “He was dripping blood,” He explained. “I could see it splatter on the floor. Helped me approximate. I knew if I got him to think I could keep up with him, he'd focus on taking me out rather than sowing discord across the battlefield.” He groaned. “Wasn't expecting the damned white magic cheap shot. He's the first person other than Teach who I've seen use regular swords and magic at the same time; guess we out-schemed each other.”

“I couldn't believe you recovered from having him warp a new enemy right in front of you,” Dimitri said. “You weren't expecting that, were you?”

“Nope. He certainly knows some unusual tricks.” Claude ran a hand through his hair; his braid had come loose at some point in the battle, leaving long strands of brown hair sticking to his face. “Color me fascinated.”

Footsteps in the hall caused Byleth to turn around. It was Balthus and the red-haired girl; both looked harried and a little uncertain, though Balthus was hiding it behind a mask of bravado. Neither made any move to attack; the former had put his relic down somewhere and the latter looked to pale in the face to try any serious magic.

“It's safe to say we've won this 'round, and without a single casualty,” Claude said lightly, turning to face them. “Don't you think? ...Er, 'B', was it?”

“The name's Balthus,” The brawler reiterated, shrugging. “I don't loose often, but I can at least recognize what it looks like.

Hilda stared at him. “Balthus...Balthus...” Her eyes widened. “_BALTHUS?!_” Byleth blinked and she shot across the floor, coming to a stop right in front of him, her tarnished ax tossed aside. “From House Albrecht?! Baltie, is that _you_?” She grabbed his face in her hands, squeezing his cheeks and staring into his eyes. “Wow, you look...old!”

“Huh...” Balthus said blankly, looking bemusedly at Hilda as though random girls manhandled him all the time. “Do we know each other, pal?” As he stared at her, however, his expression slowly slipped into shock. “Wait a minute...that hair, those eyes, that _voice_...!” He grabbed her around the waist and picked her up, spinning her in a circle. Instead of screaming, the pinkette squealed in utter delight. “_Hilda! _I don't believe it! When the hell did you get so tall?!”

“...What?” Byleth asked plaintively. Some small part of her did make note of, and appreciate, Claude, Dimitri and Edelgard's identical expressions of stunned bewilderment.

* * *

Apparently, that little bit of recognition killed any lingering doubts the underground teenagers and their collective men had about surrendering. Weapons were dropped, Byleth, Linhardt and (surprisingly) Yuri went around healing all the remaining injuries, and the four teens formed a clear leadership band to face their counterparts to offer up some sort of explanation. Of course, before explanations could be offered...

“I barely recognized you, running around playing bodyguard for everyone!” Balthus told Hilda with a laugh. “Why didn't you speak up sooner?”

Now that she was over her initial rush of happiness at seeing him, Hilda was not amused by his attempt at levity. “Baltie, this _isn't _the time to catch up. What would _Holst _think? I bet you didn't even consider that, did you?”

Balthus's face dropped a bit. “Yeesh. I dunno, but it wouldn't be nice.”

Hilda glared at him without saying anything. That seemed to make the brawler sweat, much to the amusement of both Yuri and Constance. “Look, I'm sorry okay? Just don't tell Holst!” The brawler pleaded. “If he knew I raised a hand against you, he'd have my head on a silver platter!”

“Hah! Like he'd stop at your head,” Hilda scoffed, before shaking her head. “Fine though. Just this once, and _just for you, _I'll keep quiet.”

“Now that _that's _sorted...” Claude cut in, eyeing Balthus with faux curiosity. “What did you mean by being 'lucky you found me'?”

“Oh, one of the guys I owe money to is Count Gloucester.” Balthus said by way of explanation. “He told me he'd consider it covered if I dug up some dirt on you.” His eyes flickered over to Byleth; she must have been making quite the face, because he immediately cringed. “And, you know, dirt can mean a lot of things, and I certainly wouldn't have put you in actual _danger _and I'm sure you're a really upstanding guy, _please make her stop glaring at me_.”

Claude chuckled and shot her a quick look she couldn't quite interpret with warm eyes. “Well, I guess you're stuck paying the old geezer back in gold, then. Teach takes the fact that I'm her problem very seriously.” He put his hands behind his head. “But onto more serious matters, was a fight really necessary? We're not a big enough group for a proper strike force, after all.”

“Really was!” Balthus responded seriously, pumping his fist. “The best way to aquatint yourself with someone is to get into a tussle. That's common sense right there.”

“That is _so _not true...” Bernadetta grumbled from her place pressed against Byleth's side.

Yuri let out a laugh. The sound made Bernadetta flinch, like she was torn between being happy to hear it and running away. “That's what a sensible person would say. We're not all as far gone as Balthus here.”

“Say what you will,” Balthus replied with great dignity, “but I've learned all that I need to know. It's clear this lot has nothing to do with the church's intentions. You spent way too much effort on not killing people to be an enemy.” He frowned. “But that means those other creeps could be on us at any time.”

“I've yet to see anything that convinces me the church is winding up for a 'cleansing'. And I've known Lady Rhea for a long time.” Jeralt said gruffly. “So what's got you so wired up you'll try and beat people into a coma for the crime of getting lost?”

“Someone is targeting Abyss.” Balthus responded, apparently immune to the sally. Mercenaries keep sniffing around and causing trouble. More than once they've ended up attacking people, demanding directions to some 'treasure'. They won't let up.”

“It's a real problem, and we have no idea who's pulling the strings.” Yuri said with a sigh. Byleth had inkling that he was quite vexed by that fact; his eyes were as sharp and cold as Claude's so often were...if it were possible, those violet orbs seemed even more remote and distant by comparison. “There are many within the church who would like to see this 'filthy' underground city purged.” He shook his head and his lips quirked into a small, apologetic smile. “When you showed up, we thought you were here to do just that. Apologies for the confusion.”

Byleth was tired, bruised, somewhat bloody, and coming down from the battle high left her with nothing but fading anxiety and an immense feeling of irritation. She opened her mouth to let him know exactly how little she was impressed by that apology, but Hilda got there first. “So _that's _why you came at us with that nasty 'kill the outsiders' act!” She gasped with a sort of sugary malice that a theater diva would envy.

“As Yuri-bird said, we're sorry.” The redhead added her voice to the contrition, bowing her head. “We're all pretty on-edge these days.”

“Indeed!” Constance said loudly. She still looked rather miffed by the 'barbaric handling' she'd received during the battle, but she did sound sincerely apologetic. “That someone would descend into Abyss out of pure curiosity was far too outlandish to consider.”

“You hadn't yet met Claude,” Dimitri said wryly. Claude shot him a mock-despairing look; Yuri's eyes flickered with _something _Byleth couldn't parse, but she noticed that his attention seemed to be switching between her, Claude, and Bernadetta the most out of everyone.

“An underground city?” Byleth asked finally, her mind buzzing a bit at the implications. “How many people are down here with you?”

“Oh, many many, my friend, and all those who the ones who shun the light of day,” Yuri answered smoothly. “It's the secret shadow of Garreg Mach, in a sense. It's reflection.”

“The church quietly tolerates us,” The redhead added. “They think this place serves enough of a purpose to justify existing. Who knows when they'll all change their minds about it, but it's lasted this long without being spoken of.”

“The deal is simple,” Yuri finished. His smile was cold and devoid of humor. “Abyssians never get involved with the surface, and the surface doesn't get involved with us.”

“Alas! For some foul reason, surface dwellers have been after us of late.” Constance gestured angrily. “Further oppressing the souls who can only find solace underground?! I cannot abide it!”

“That does seem cruel...” Bernadetta murmured, wrapping her arms around herself. “They're hiding away from the sun itself. What more could they want than that?”

“See?!” Constance pointed at her, causing her to squeak and hide fully behind Byleth. “She understands the heart of it! Why can no one else?!” She closed her eyes. “Though it pains me to admit it, we, too, harbor valid reasons for not venturing into the light.”

Hilda's eyes widened. “You too, Baltie? Have you gone and gotten yourself in trouble again?”

“Heh...that's about the size of it.” Balthus rubbed the back of his head. “You see...I've got more bounties on my head than hair. Needed to lay low. Real low.”

“Baltie...” Hilda said sadly, clasping her hands together. Idly Byleth wondered exactly how she felt about the older man, but she quickly brushed the thought aside. _It probably isn't my place._

“Well, that's enough misunderstandings for tonight.” Yuri said definitively. “Lets lead these outsiders back up to the monastery proper so we can all get some sleep.”

“Nonsense!” Constance stomped her foot. “Intolerable nonsense! Whyever would we let slip this chance to acquire their aid?”

_Excuse me? You attacked our party on the mere suspicion that we were effectively bandits, threw traps, arrows and SIEGE magic at us with the intention of beating us unconscious and taking us prisoner, and now less than five minutes after we managed to defeat you by the skin of our teeth, you want us to help you?! Why, I should just - _“If you're struggling to protect people who have fled here for sanctuary, we could help on occasion.” -_prove that I've suddenly turned into fable knight. _

Byleth was quite aware of her father's – and Hannah's – startled stares. Yuri looked shocked for a split second, but his face quickly smoothed over into the calculated look she'd seen so often in Claude. Ashe was looking at her in awe and reverence, Bernadetta was squeaking at being implicitly volunteered, Edelgard looked fondly exasperated, Claude was giving her side-eye, and Dimitri...he was smiling knowingly at her.

“Yeah, that's what we think of – wait, what?” Hilda stumbled, turning and looking wide-eyed at her professor. “You're serious, professor?”

_No! _“Of course I am,” She responded, instead of backing out of the remark like a halfway sensible person._ What in the world?! _Her eyes traveled over the four in front of her, the same age and temperament as her students. _Where had that thought come from? _All of them looked quite taken aback, especially the redhead. “If we're going to defuse tensions between the church and the Abyss-” _whatever that means in its totality _“-and figure out why mercenaries are getting into the tunnels beneath Garreg Mach, shouldn't the professor personally appointed by the archbishop offer her support?”

Possibly as a result of her brain scrambling for a more rational explanation, she then added, “besides, the last two time a large mercenary force slipped into Garreg Mach undetected, the Holy Mausoleum was sacked and Flayn, among others, were kidnapped and done serious harm. It would be prudent to figure out what's going on and nip it in the bud, don't you think?"

Claude's mouth opened, closed, and then he sighed heavily. “Why did you have to go and bring logic into it?” He complained, mock resigned.

“Oh, so you were just going to go to bed and completely ignore this new, ongoing mystery?” Byleth asked teasingly. Jeralt's eyebrows somehow migrated even further up his head while Hannah stared at her like she'd never seen her captain's daughter before.

“Well when you put it like _that..._”

“How wondrous of you!” Constance said happily, clapping her hands together. “How selfless! How utterly befitting of the honorable noblewoman you so clearly are!” Byleth blinked, baffled; she opened her mouth to correct the blonde, but she merely drove onward. “There are many in the abyss who cannot defend themselves. Orphans, the elderly, the infirm, merchants destroyed by artificial barriers, lost souls of all kinds. With such great warriors at our backs, we shall drive this miscreants out for good and seek out the truth behind these ghastly attacks!”

Byleth pivoted slightly and stared at her students, hoping they weren't too mad at her inexplicably volunteering them for this new mission. Surprisingly, none of them looked fit to throttle her like that one time Robb got drunk at a party and sold their services to that weasel Lord Acheron as bodyguards for two consecutive months.

“It is a noble cause, and one I am willing to lend my lance to,” Dimitri said solemnly. “If you feel your are able to trust us, of course. We are from the surface after all.”

“Trust is a choice,” Yuri said simply, a meaningful look in his distant eyes. “We're choosing to trust you. For now. It's clear you're not here by anyone's command. And you're not just a bunch of noble twerps, either.” His eyes lingered on Claude for a moment. “You know your way around a good fight. It's in how you carry yourselves, even the shyest of you.” He cast Bernadetta a playful smirk.

“Still...” He pressed a hand against his forehead. “I'm reluctant to get you involved in this madness. It's our problem, really; not yours.”

“And yet it's often the people outside of the problem who are best suited to see the cause of it,” Jeralt said with a heavy sigh. “Well, I'm going to go have an interesting conversation with Lady Rhea. I can take over your classes for tomorrow and the day after, kiddo, but we're gonna have to figure out something a bit more complex after that point.”

“True,” Byleth nodded. “Thank you, father.”

“You're really set on this? Moved by that one single plea?” Yuri gave her an incredulous look before smiling. “Well then, guests of ours. Let us show you Abyss itself. There's much to fill you in on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (unlocks all the Ashen Wolves) (discovers that Yuri and Claude do not have a support conversation)  
Me: My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined.
> 
> Whew, that fight scene was tricky to map out! Surprisingly so, since there were sort of 'phases' to it given the placement of the various Ashen Wolves. Anyhow, we're now into Cindered Shadows proper. One thing I'll say right away is that I'm going to space out the events just a bit, so the sub story will take place over about a week and a half instead of just a few days as is implied in-game. 
> 
> I had to think for a bit before I figured out how the Crest of Indech worked; and just like with Claude and Dimitri, I'm modifying it a bit so Bernadetta has the Major crest instead of the minor one. Partly for story reasons, and partly because I figured it made sense for Claude and Dimitri, as direct descendants of Blaiddyd and Riegan, to have the Major crest instead of the minor one. Hope that makes sense!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri is welcomed into Abyss and learns a few things.

When Yuri lead them down the stairwell into what he called the 'heart', or 'downtown', of Abyss, Dimitri very nearly forgot how to breathe.

Calling Abyss an underground city was barely an exaggeration. They emerged from a narrow hallway that lead down a set of stairs, guarded by two men; one with an ax and the other armed with steel gauntlets. Despite being older, marred with the scars that spoke of a lifetime of struggles, both men snapped to attention when Yuri emerged with them trailing behind him. Dimitri could feel them glare warily at him and the others; yet with a word from the purple haired teen both of them stepped aside, not quite comfortable, but completely trusting their 'prince' and his judgment. (He had a sneaking suspicion that was effectively Yuri's role within Abyss proper.)

Yuri lead them down the stairwell and out into a walkway that was wide enough for two horse-drawn carriages to travel side-by-side; the ceiling towered far above them, elegant-if-tarnished chandeliers lit with magic flame illuminating old, faded murals damaged by water and fragmentation. The 'road' lead out both to the left and to the right; a low hum of chatter, the clanking of steel and crackle of fire from a smith's forge, the loud calling of a merchant peddling fresh wares, and the low chatter of people speaking happily with each other. It...was a marketplace, plain and simple; crowded, energetic, and bustling. The fact that it was lit by torches rather than the sun and lined with carpets instead of a cobblestone road didn't make a difference.

And the market itself was just the first thing that caught the eye...looking straight ahead, Dimitri could see a sprawling series of hallways that branched off at more than one point. Beneath the dialogue that he could overhear was the rhythmic humming of rushing water; a river, or possibly an artificial canal, was running through the tunnels somewhere within. The hallways were well lit with torches and well maintained, as smooth and clean as anywhere within the monastery proper. Children darted to and fro across the halls, laughing and playing with cats; men with crippled or missing limbs were leaning against the walls, observing and speaking with their neighbors. He saw a woman who's face was covered in a terrible burn scar break up a squabble between two children, her tattered coat hanging loosely off her small frame.

They were noticed quickly. Cries of 'Mockingbird!' 'Hey, B! You're back!' 'there you are, Hapi!' and 'Lady Constance!' seemed to come from everywhere at once; followed by civilians of all ages swarming around them, filling the air with enthusiastic and anxious questions. Seeing that everyone, but especially the Ashen Wolves, were dirty bruised and battered from their unfortunate scuffle, there was a great amount of fussing and not a few wary glares shot in their direction.

“I brought them here,” Yuri said firmly, waving off a grizzled older man who was giving Edelgard a particularly poisonous look. Dimitri instinctively stepped forward, putting himself on his sister's right to give her a bit more protection; she gave him a wry look in response. “To be honest, we brought most of the dirt and blood on ourselves; to make up for our little misunderstanding, this lot are our guests for the next few days.”

“They're officer's academy students, aren't they?” One kid asked, standing on his toes and eyeing Bernadetta through the crowd of people. The shy girl was latched onto Claude's arm, looking for all the world as though that contact was the only thing keeping her conscious. He responded by patting her on the head absently, his eyes panning Abyss with a now familiar look of sharp-eyed fascination. “They don't look like knights.”

“Hey, look at that! Is that...is that the Sword of the Creator?” A young woman whispered, gazing fearfully and reverently at Byleth. “Then this girl is...”

“That can't be the real thing. Can it?” Another voice in the crowd hissed. “The sword hasn't resurfaced since the war with Nemesis, and neither has the Crest of Flames. The King of Liberation had no children, I remember reading about that...”

“It's _glowing, _just like Mockingbird's fetters. It's real, I'd stake my life on it...She must be that new professor, the archbishop's favorite...I didn't think she'd be so young...”

“What sort of person do you think she is? If she's the archbishop's favorite, there are powers and influence she can gain from that position...”

“She doesn't have a cruel face...but she's sort of aloof, isn't she? Have you seen another young girl with a face that composed...?”

...Once again, it seemed, she was at the center of everyone's attention. _Of course only now would I think of how unsettling that can be..._ A little worried about how she was taking the whispers, Dimitri glanced over at his professor. Byleth glanced right and left, blinking somewhat uneasily, her eyes panning the crowd. Jeralt put a hand on her shoulder and murmured something Dimitri didn't quite catch; whatever it was, she nodded and he could see some tension ease out of her shoulders.

“Everyone,” Yuri cut in, somehow projecting his voice through the room without changing his tone from an easy, friendly timber. The babbling cut off virtually instantly. “These people are our allies, not just guests. Try to make them as comfortable as possible, yeah?”

Varying sounds of agreement mixed in with each other alongside nods and smiles as the crowd spread back out a bit; giving them a bit more space. Constance and Hapi split off at this point, the former glancing curiously back at Edelgard with narrowed eyes before heading off down the front hallway. “There's a lot of space down here, so don't worry about accommodations. We're not that _that _separated from normal society.” Yuri said, turning to face the group again. “We have a couple of rooms set aside for individuals who need to hide for a short period of time, or people who are passing through while trying to keep a low profile. I'd give you a run down of what's going on right now...but if you lot are as tired and sore as I feel right now, I'm not sure how much of it you'd absorb.”

“Ahaha...” Ashe let out a weak, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his head. The silver-haired boy was swaying slightly on his feet; Hannah was hovered near him, a steadying hand on his arm. “Yeah, that's...that's fair.”

Byleth ran a hand through her hair, eyes squeezed shut like she was trying to listen to something far away. Dimitri started to reach for her when she shook her head. “I need to go back upstairs...inform Lady Rhea of where I've brought you lot and get someone to cover my class...”

“You mean, you'd tell the others that something was going on down here that you need to take care of, and thus bring all of them down with you on your way back?” Claude responded jokingly.

“That's not...” Byleth started, giving him a confused look as a light blush colored her cheeks. _Does that notion really surprise her so?_ “I didn't think that-”

“I'll worry about informing the Archbishop,” Jeralt interjected. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “And like I said, I'll take care of the rest of your brats while you're down here.”

“They're not brats,” Byleth responded so immediately and tiredly, it could only be something she had said a number of times before.

Jeralt just chuckled a bit in response. “That's a little hard to take seriously when I know you're including that one in that statement.” He nodded pointedly at Claude. The brunette made an exaggerated face in response, then gave Byleth a beseeching look. This interplay made both Hilda and Bernadetta giggle a bit.

“Quit insulting my students, old man, and go give the mission statement,” The Ashen Demon grumbled in a startlingly Felix-esque manner. Jeralt merely ruffled her hair in response and stepped back while a very visibly curious Yuri began to lead them down the hallway deeper into Abyss. “Then come back, you hear me?”

_...In the end, Captain Jeralt is much like his daughter, _Dimitri thought as he walked, looking all about this mysterious hidden town. _They're affection is quieter than most', but it's there....and it's all the more tangible for it. _

“Yeah, yeah. You know Robb's never going to let you live this down, right?”

“He can bloody well try; I still have the high ground. For one thing, Yuri is not the Weathervane and can't _possibly _be as bad as him-” Yuri glanced to the right, and Dimitri rather wished that he could see the other teen's expression at that. “-and for another, I wasn't so drunk I offered our services as his bodyguards for the equivalent of one night's dinner at a high class inn.”

Balthus burst into a fit of choked-off laughter, while Hilda stared wide-eyed at Byleth. “Whaaaat? He DID? Professor, how come you've never told us _that _story?”

“...It never came up?” Byleth said after a moment, looking a touch off-balance. She tugged on her hair again. “It's not a very impressive tale; more of an object lesson on minding how much you drink at important gatherings.”

Claude clasped her hand in his and solemnly said, “To suffer through extended time having to serve _him _in close proximity...and you didn't kill the guy who got you into it...you are the moral standard that all should look up to and admire, Teach.”

“Who are we talking about?” Ashe asked, slightly plaintive that there was some joke being made here that he didn't understand.

“Lord Acheron, the Weathervane.” Balthus answered helpfully. He shuddered dramatically before giving Byleth a sympathetic smile. “Put it this way, kiddo – think about every bad thing you've ever heard about Alliance nobles, multiply that by five, and then give it a physical embodiment in the shape of a man with the world's most punch-able face. _That _is the guy Robb drunkenly sold his and the lady's services too.”

Ashe contemplated that for a moment. Slowly, his face went a bit pale, and his eyes grew really wide. “That sounds _horrible._”

“And yet, even compared to that image you've got in your head, once you met him...you'd realize he was actually, somehow, even worse than that!” Claude chuckled.

Byleth let out a tired groan of agreement; the sheer implications of that reaction – the image of the cold, unflappable, apathetic Ashen Demon being driven to frustration by some self-important minor noble – caused Dimitri to laugh incredulously without thinking. “Aha...I'm sorry,” He started, chiding himself for finding amusement in what had clearly been a very trying experience for her, but was startled into silence when she just smiled ruefully in response.

“A true saint,” Yuri mused airily, “would be a person who could spend several days in Acheron's company and never be seized by the urge to kill him, kill themselves, or both_._”

That made Claude flat out cackle. Dimitri honestly wondered if his friend found so much amusement in this purely because of the fact that he'd met the man, and found the comparisons lacked the weight of actually meeting and having to negotiate with him. _I'll have to ask..._

Yuri and Balthus lead them over a bridge above a deep canal of crystal-clear rushing water and into a series of hallways. The rows were long and narrow, the walls bare except for torches and an occasional painting. (Said paintings were...interesting. Well. Strange, bizarre, fascinating, possibly heretical – it was easy to see why they were here instead of adorning the walls of a proud lord's home. They were quite a sight, in spite of that...) It was more mazelike than a proper dormitory; some rooms who's doors were partly open revealed messy and somewhat haphazard upkeep.

For as fascinating and bewildering as all of this was, and despite the fact that he should really be a little bit wary of their new 'hosts' after what had transpired...the prospect of an at least comfortable bed to rest on was currently ruling over all of Dimitri's thoughts and desires. His body ached terribly in spite of his cuts and bruises having all been healed; exhaustion hung over him like a thunderstorm, giving him a terrible headache. Now that the adrenaline that had supported him throughout the discovery of the tunnels and the battle had finally drained away, the weight of both the day and the night (how long into the night they were, he couldn't surmise from underground, but his body's objections suggested it had been no small time sink) had him fighting to remain alert and even just keep his eyes open. He wasn't the only one; Bernadetta was fully leaning on Byleth, her head hanging as the latter guided her forward step by step, Hilda was mumbling unkind things about raiders and their ability to cause stupid misunderstandings and swayed a bit as she walked, and Linhardt looked so pale and drawn that one could easily believe that he had fallen quite sick. Edelgard seemed alert by comparison, but her movements were still a bit sluggish.

_Isn't it strange, that these people who claim that Fodlan had no place for them came to live beneath the heart of the Serios faith? _His father mused, looking back and forth as they traveled. _I would have thought that they would leave for Sreng, Dagda, Almyra or even beyond. Surely distance and the time to forget their losses would be preferable to lingering beneath the feet of those who failed them..._

_This doesn't seem right, _Glenn muttered. He was frowning at Yuri's back. _The logic is so circular. Oh, the lords and the church made my life unbearable!, I reject them, their values and everything they stand for – but I'm still going to live under their floorboards for the rest of my life and rely entirely on their willingness to ignore me. Who looks at that and decides 'yeah, this is a good idea that gives me everything I want'? _

_Leaving Fodlan is not as easy for most as it would be for us, _Dimitri thought. _It's no short walk to the borders, no matter where you start. Some people simply can't make that journey...and the sanctity of Garreg Mach would provide some protection from creditors, angry lords, and other powerful enemies who would otherwise give chase. _

_Possibly?, _Glenn shrugged, though his tone made it clear he didn't think that explained enough. _But how many people who resent the faith _want _to live in their basement indefinitely? You'd think it would fuel their resentment...warp it into something worse. _

_That's... _Dimitri wondered how he should respond. _...I don't think everyone would consider this place a permanent home. More of a temporary haven..._

“-round here. Ladies first.” Yuri's voice sounded like it was coming from far away, but he managed to catch the conversation thread before he ended up embarrassing himself. Dimitri blinked and forced his mind to reorient himself in the present.

They'd come to a stop in the middle of one of the hallways, with open doors on either side. There were a number of rooms along the way, some of them having one or two people within, but mostly they were empty. Within the rooms were several oddly designed beds; they were in sets of two, one stacked on top of the other on thick stilts. They were brightly colored and warmly lit, welcoming despite their sparse décor. The beds were made up, too. It was almost as well-appointed as a proper inn.

“Thank you,” Byleth said, the lowness of her voice the hint of how tired she must be.

Hilda immediately flounced in with a loud, relieved sigh. “Oh, thank goodness! This is niiice...” She turned on her heels and waved widely in Balthus's direction. “You're not off the hook, Baltie. Tomorrow I expect you to tell me eeeeverything that's happened since we last saw you. Got it? We're gonna catch up right proper.” She swung almost drunkenly on the door frame, leaning back until she was an inch from loosing her grip and spectacularly crashing to the ground. Byleth hurried into the room and grabbed her by the shoulder, steadying her.

“Yup, I got it Hilda.” Balthus said, his expression slightly pained but otherwise quite warm.

Edelgard entered the room with a bemused look, not saying anything. Bernadetta hovered in the doorway for a moment, hesitantly glancing over her shoulder back at Yuri. Her eyes flickered, focusing on his face, before she shied away and retreated, closing the door behind her.

_I wonder how she knows him..._ Father mused. _She clearly recognizes him to some extent, but there's more in there..._

_Good question, _Glenn commented. _Varley's scared of the heavens and everything, so I wonder when she had the chance to befriend a dangerous street rat._

_...well, I doubt he was always a street rat..._ Dimitri noted in turn, turning his head slightly to watch Yuri give them all a patient, friendly smile that nevertheless seemed a bit practiced. The sheer speed from which the other teen had switched from considering them violent invaders to potential allies was jarring; he was glad that the misunderstanding was cleared up, but the fact that some of Yuri's mannerisms reminded him of the first time he met Claude had him a bit on edge... _I wonder who he was before...and who he is now. _

_Riegan will figure it out, _Glenn said with a hint of amusement. _I give it a few days, at most._

_I doubt it. Yuri will be on his guard around him, _Father objected, crossing his arms. _The professor will the be the one to win him over. It is impossible to be faced with the sort of care and devotion she shows her allies and not feel a desire to reciprocate it._

_That's certainly true... _Dimitri thought. _Though if he sees Claude as a kindred spirit, he may feel comfortable enough to let something slip. ...Honestly, I hope as much happens. I would rather we did not stumble into yet another brewing disaster without some sort of context for it._

Glenn shrugged. _Does it really matter? Someone's perpetrating attacks on innocent, bereaved people who have already given up almost everything in their lives. If you have to go and smash some skulls together to put a stop to that, what does the 'why' even matter?_

_Ah...of course..._

“Hey, Mitya. You're falling asleep on your feet over there.” Claude's calloused fingers wound around his wrist, tugging him forward. Dimitri blinked a few times and flushed, embarrassed yet grateful for the brunette's assumption. “C'mon. The bed should be at least a bit more comfortable.”

Something about the way that sentence was phrased made Dimitri's heart stutter. He avoided those piercing emerald eyes and let out a soft chuckle. “R-right...”

He let Claude lead him into the room across from the girl's 'dorm'. Visually, it was mostly identical, including the odd bed setup. Linhardt, unsurprisingly, had immediately crawled onto the lower bunk on the right, thrown the topmost blanket over himself, and curled up on his side with the intention of going straight to sleep. Ashe climbed up the ladder to the top bunk with shaky and obvious care, crawling over it and eyeing the raised bar on the side (likely there to keep him from rolling off...) a little uncertainly. “So this is a thing,” The silver-haired boy said, quietly and a bit lamely. “Do you think these mercenaries might be the same people who kidnapped Flayn? They're using hidden passageways...”

“I don't know,” Claude said with a sigh, immediately grabbing the ladder and hoisting himself up onto the upper bunk bed on the left. “It could be, but we really don't have anything to go on. Constance and Balthus mentioned that the mercenaries kept trying to shake people down for some kind of 'treasure'; so it's not the same M.O as the guys we fought last month. It could be a coincidence.” He groaned, slumping dramatically on the mattress. “And I hate those.”

“I wonder if it would be more prudent to call for the Knights of Serios...” Dimitri sighed heavily, letting himself collapse on the lower bunk. The mattress sank a bit beneath him, but it was softer than he expected, which was nice.

“From what Yuri said, most people down here don't trust anyone wearing the symbol of Serios further than a Demonic Beast can spit, and the feeling's pretty mutual.” Claude pointed out dryly. “With that kind of friction screwing things up, no help would be better than the help they'd get out of _that_.”

“I just can't believe we've been here for several months without ever knowing about this place,” Ashe said with more than a hint of wonder. “A whole community of people, right below our feet as we went to all our classes. It's amazing. I wonder how far down the tunnels and chambers under the monastery go...”

“That is an excellent question, and _I _wonder if Yuri has the answer,” Claude remarked lightly. “He's the type to know his way around.”

“I was surprised,” Ashe said urgently. “I didn't comment on it on the way down, but I actually recognize Yuri. A number of years ago he was adopted by Count Rowe; I saw him at a number of functions. People often pushed us towards each other because of that commonality between us.”

“Really?” Dimitri heard Claude's bed creak as he sat up abruptly. “How long was he there for? And why would he leave such a useful position?”

“Oh, I don't know. He didn't leave the Count's territory much, at least not officially, and I didn't hear anything about scandals or crimes that could have forced him to flee.” Ashe wrapped his arms around his knees. “Maybe I'll remember more tomorrow, but all I can think of now is that he just disappeared after some time.”

Claude hummed a bit, and the raw excitement blended with fascination, eagerness and determination was almost a tangible thing now that Dimitri could recognize it for what it was. _Oh Claude, please be careful...not everyone will find your endless curiosity endearing. There is enough danger lingering in the shadows of Fodlan now without you going out and courting it directly._ “Would he recognize you if you said as much?” He wondered aloud instead.

Ashe shrugged uncertainly. “I don't know. Maybe? I guess it would depend on how much of an impression I made on him back then.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “I wouldn't count on that, to be honest.”

“You? Unmemorable? That's a joke, right?” Claude teased, leaning against the wall. “How could anyone forget such a sweet and earnest dork like you? I certainly wouldn't.”

Ashe blushed fiercely and buried his face in his knees, mumbling a weak protest. “I have to agree with Claude,” Dimitri said, unable to help the smile the sight caused. “You're quite memorable.”

“Guuuuys,” Ashe half-protested, half-stammered before dissolving into a startled and embarrassed fit of laughter.

Linhardt rolled over on his bed, brow furrowed, pressing his forehead deeper into the pillow in protest of the noise he was distantly aware of. Dimitri was a little amazed to realize that the green-haired boy had effectively dropped off to sleep moments after flopping down on the bed_. I'm almost a little jealous it's that easy for him..._

“We can tag-team Yuri,” Claude said lightly. “You just ask him about his life and be adorable, and I'll sneak in the important questions when you've gotten him loosened up and relaxed. He'll let slip something eventually; even if its not that important, it'll give us a better picture of who and what we're dealing with.”

“B-Be adorable?” Ashe peeked out from beneath his arms to look nervously at the brunette. “H-How am I supposed to...you think that'll work?”

“Even the most cautious of people relax somewhat when they feel like they're in good company,” Claude said easily. “And _you_ are the _definition_ of good company. So's Dimitri, of course, but Yuri would probably talk circles around him.”

“...As much as I would like to deny it, I'm not certain I can,” Dimitri sighed ruefully, swinging his legs up onto the mattress. “After all, I let _you_ dupe me into thinking that you were a man who didn't value anything for over a month.”

“I live in the Alliance. I have practice.” The prince is almost certain he could hear Claude's genuine smile in his voice.

“It can't be that bad...can it?” Ashe asked with a edge of hesitation.

Claude chuckled lightly. “Not all the time, no...but you know what they say; when it rains, it _pours_.” The bed above Dimitri's head creaked as the brunette shifted, probably lying down. “Maybe I'll tell you a few stories when we have a moment. Give you an idea of what to look out for when you inherit the Gaspard Dukedom.”

“Oh! That's actually a good idea, Claude.” Dimitri said, while internally he wanted to bang his head against the wall. Really, after Lord Lonato's demise he should have put some thought into what would happen to the man's land. (_Was he the prince of Faerghus or not?_) It wouldn't be hard for him to ensure that Ashe inherited the lands as he deserved, but his poor friend needed a (comparatively) gentle introduction to politics before he could properly take up the role. And really, if anyone could tutor him on the side about the ins and outs of dealing with petty lords, it was a lord ascendant of the Alliance.

“You'd do that for me?” The note of awed wonder in Ashe's voice was very sweet, and a little saddening. The little pause after he said this made Dimitri really wish he could see Claude's face.

“Sure. I mean, why not? Besides,” Another creak suggested the brunette had moved, possibly to put his hands behind his head. “you love reading fables and old tales, right? I can't wait to tell you about some ridiculous scheme ripped right out of one of your books, then see your expression when you find out that it's actually something some lord _actually tried_.”

“...There's a scary image,” Dimitri said in a slightly strained way.

“C'd the rest of you j'st go to shleep?” Linhardt's muffled, slurred complaint preceded Claude's undoubtedly witty response. The green-haired boy had rolled over and was looking baefully up at them from beneath his thick blanket.

“Oh, right! Sorry, Linhardt. I'll put out one of the torches.”

Dimitri untied his boots and kicked them off before pulling the covers aside and crawling into bed properly as Ashe dimmed the light in the room. His body was sore, but rather less so now, and the mattress was soft and comfortable enough that lying on it was soothing. _Tomorrow, we'll learn more from Yuri about what's going on. Maybe this time we'll be able to nip this budding conflict in the bud and return to the normal path of things. _

_Why are you certain you can trust Yuri? _His father asked mildly. _It's dangerous to assume that he's like Riegan. How can you be sure that his smiles don't hide a malevolent creature? How do you know he isn't stringing you along for some purpose of his own? _

_I...I trust Byleth, _Dimitri thought back hesitantly. _She believes that the Ashen Wolves are telling the truth, and if she gets suspicious, I know she will try to send me and the others away. I mistrusted Claude at first, suspected all sorts of things, and I turned out to be utterly in the wrong. It's true that Yuri may well be cut from a different cloth, but if he is like Claude and he and his friends need help..._

_There is such a thing as being too trusting, _Glenn chided. _You are not permitted to die down here. You know that, right?_

_Of course I do. _Dimitri tilted his head, looking at his father who was sitting on the edge of his bed. Lambert's expression was as it had always been when he caught his son doing something that left him worried, angry, or both; like the time he'd gotten out of bed to find Dimitri up in the tree next to his window – four floors above the ground.

_Are you relying on Riegan to intuit whether or not Yuri is trustworthy? _His father asked pointedly.

Dimitri shrugged a little helplessly. _He's better at it than me. _

_You're putting your life in his hands? Your life, our justice, everything? _Glenn responded hotly, running up to the side of his bed and gazing down at him intently. _Who is Riegan to you now? _

_That's...I... _Dimitri shed away from the image, both startled and frightened by their sudden aggressiveness. _He's my friend..._

_You friend, _Glenn repeated skeptically. _Only your friend? _

_Of course...what else could he be...? _

Glenn snorted and shook his head, his expression sliding away from anger and frustration into the softer, patient amusement that he always wore when Felix failed to understand something he was driving at. _'What words could possibly paint the vision I saw that night as it deserved to be rendered unto all? He was unearthly, vibrant and golden and perfect, too pure to be mortal and yet so visibly human.' _He quoted lightly. _'I stood there like a trapped rabbit, staring at him as though he were the whole world. In that moment, for me, he was.' _

..._Stardust... _Dimitri's heart skipped a beat, remembering that passage where the young knight tried to convince the assembled lords that he had seen the fallen star they claimed was a rumor spread by their enemies. He remembered the proceeding passage as well, where she reflected upon the star's strange beauty, the very one that had come to his mind when Claude first sauntered into the monastery all those months ago. _Glenn, I – I don't understand._

Glenn's lips curved into that little smirk that had always reminded him that, honorable and knightly though he was, he was still Felix's older brother and just as snarky. _You will, _he retorted. _Think about it for long enough, and you will. _

_Don't force Eisner to protect you all by herself, _his father added while Dimitri tried to wrap his head around what Glenn was implying. _You really ought to be returning the favor by this point. _

_I will. I'll always protect her, even if she doesn't expect or want me to. It...it's about time that someone did. _

His father gave him a crooked smile in response, but said nothing more before vanishing.

* * *

It was a little surprising that his sleep went undisturbed, considering all that happened. Yet Dimitri slept without dreaming, and woke at some indeterminate point in the morning to find their candle burned down to nothing and only the faintest sounds of chatter indicating that anyone else was up and about. The lack of sunlight shining through the window, which he'd long grown fond of, was disorienting and left him feeling a bit discomforted. _I wonder if living underground distresses anyone else here..._

Giving his head a shake, Dimitri pushed the blankets aside and got up, sliding his feet back into his boots. In the dim light he could see that both Ashe and Linhardt were still asleep, breathing evenly. _How early is it...? _Lacing up his boots, Dimitri got to his feet and walked over to the doorway. He hesitated when grabbing the doorknob and glanced over his shoulder.

Claude's bed was empty. _He probably woke early so he could go snooping around, _Dimitri thought, faintly amused. _Hopefully he's avoided doing anything that would get him in trouble with the people here. They're on edge as it is..._

Leaving the room, Dimitri glanced at the door to the girl's room. It was closed, leaving him wondering if any of them were awake yet. _In case they're all still sleeping, I won't knock. _

Following the hallway back to the entrance was a little bit confusing, partially due to the fact that he hadn't been paying terribly close attention when Yuri lead them here last night. He ended up turning a corner twice and walking in a circle past a room that looked like the mock-up of their classrooms in the officer's academy. (It made him wonder, were any of the children here being educated? Or were their parents simply teaching them what little they could, and the room was a wistful recreation of yet another thing lost to them?) Fortunately, the heart of Abyss wasn't as mazelike as he feared, so reaching the 'market hallway' wasn't a problem.

It was less busy than last night, but there were still a large number of people out and about. Dimitri wandered down the length of the hall, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, just...taking all the sights in. Some children peered warily and curiously at him from behind large wooden crates; a young woman kept watching him when he faced away from her but shied away when he turned and looked her way. Cats wandered to and fro, nudging at people's ankles and fishing for both food and attention. A nice smell caught his attention when he wandered past the weapon's stall; both curious and (admittedly) rather hungry, he followed it and the building sound of numerous voices to the far end of the walkway and turned the corner.

A wide set of double doors – having clearly been installed long after the fact some time ago, given the hinges were bolted into the stone wall and the doors themselves were made of fairly fresh wood – greeted him there. Now that he was closer, Dimitri knew that what he smelled was all manner of cooked fish. (Fish made sense, considering that the lake next to the monastery was famously plentiful.) He hesitated before pushing one of the doors open, making his way inside.

A blast of warm air hit him the instant the door opened; the air was well filtered but almost entirely contained within the room itself. It was...well, about as large as any other surface-based inn on the roadside that he'd stopped in before. People were milling all about, eating and joking and loudly debating all at once.

What quickly caught his eye – well, who, honestly – was that Claude was there, sitting at a table off to the side with a mug, a plate of half-eaten fish, and a book that he was bent over with intense concentration. More than a little curious, Dimitri made his way over to him, carefully stepping around a table where three people were playing a card game that may have been rigged judging by how angry one of the players was getting.

It was a mark of how absorbed Claude was in his reading that he didn't react to Dimitri pulling out one of the chairs at his table and sitting down; only a quick flicker of his gaze showed that he'd noticed anything at all. Dimitri sat forward and peered at the words when Claude's slender dark fingers turned the page over. _'...Maurice had another bloody fit. I barely managed to get the children away from him in time...my own damned fault for assuming it only happened at night. I need you to find that pale bastard, drag him down here and make him give the boy a proper examination before this happens again. His body...it was more warped and animalistic than I'd ever seen before, and he didn't recognize me when I had to fight him off. This can't keep happening!' _

“...What is this?” Dimitri asked, a little unsettled.

Claude raised one finger, tilting his head as his eyes flicked back and forth. “...It's still just signed _Michael_,” he murmured. “No family name. Did he not have one?” Puzzled, Dimitri looked back at the pages and realized that, upon closer inspection, these weren't traditional chapters – but rather transcribed letters. “Come to think of it, every time he writes to this guy, he just calls him Ren. Maybe they're both retainers...”

“Claude? You're thinking out loud.”

The brunette finally glanced at him at that, a small, pleased grin on his face. “Sorry; I'm kind of excited. Do you know they have a library down here?” He took a drink from his mug, careful to keep away from the book as he did. “It seems like a lot of the stuff that Seteth and the church have banned ends up down here. And that doesn't cover letters and books that should have been lost to time that were preserved instead!”

“Ah...” Dimitri side-eyed his friend a bit. “Bishop Seteth wouldn't ban things without good reason. The church is entitled to control the what knowledge they want to make public; same as any of us.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “C'mon, Mitya. Is there any sane reason the personal correspondence of someone who worked with the Ten Elites – hell, might even _be _one of them – shouldn't be common knowledge to history seekers?”

“_What?_” Dimitri blurted out, leaning over so he could take a better look at the letter Claude had been reading.

The response earned him a smug chuckle. “Precisely that.” He casually leafed through a dozen previous pages and tilted the cover so he could see better. Dimitri goggled when he read the head of a letter addressed to one _Lady Renata Fraldarius_. “These letters are mostly written by the same guy, with some from his friend that he'd had on him when he first compiled them. I haven't read many of them, and I haven't read them in order – I've been bouncing around trying to follow the thread regarding this guy, Maurice.” He flipped back to the letter he had been reading.

“Who?” Dimitri said, thinking furiously back to his old lessons. “I don't think any of the Ten Elites went by that name...”

“Neither do I, but here he's mentioned in the same circle as them.” Claude tapped his fingers against the page. “He's young, much younger than the others. Very reserved and dislikes most other people, which _might_ explain why he's slipped through the proverbial cracks of history, but that's not what's interesting about him.” The brunette expertly flipped back to a much earlier entry and turned the book around so Dimitri could read for himself. “Read this and tell me if it reminds you of anything you might have heard happen recently.”

Nodding, Dimitri looked down and focused on the page. These weren't the old letters themselves, but copies transcribed into modern Common Fodlanese. The date was missing, as was the last name of the intended recipient (_leaving only the first name Angel_), but the body of the letter was almost completely in tact.

_My friend Angel ( ),_

_I'm writing to you in the middle of the night propped up in medical bed, and even this much might get me yelled at by Ren. I'm not supposed to be moving around for the next week; another reminder of how much we rely on you, I guess. Heh, that's a bit tactless of me; I miss your ability to distract me with your words and tease a laugh out of me no matter what my mood is. Your power to erase the worst of injuries as if they never existed is a bonus. _

_( )_

_However, I'm not writing this letter for a social call. You're probably screaming at me to explain how I got myself bedridden in spite of my powers already, so I'll be blunt – _

_Something's wrong with Maurice's powers. And by 'wrong', I mean I was woken last night by what sounded like an animal tearing his room apart; but when I got down there, I found this... ( ) _

_( ) ( )_

_( )_

_I'm at a loss for how to truly put it to words. It was like someone was trying to create a humanoid dragon, gave up halfway, and discarded their creation alive and screaming. ( ) He had two arms and two legs, but his head was spiked and covered in scales, claws the size of knives burst out from his knuckles, and his jaw and tongue elongated as if to accommodate for much bigger teeth. He was screaming bloody murder when I showed up. He barely sounded sane, ( ), couldn't string three coherent words together... Heaven only knows what _he _thought was going on, ( ) seconds after I came in he attacked and did his level best to kill me. He didn't even realize it was me until he crushed three of my ribs and was in the process of trying to bite my throat open. ( ) recognized the blood? I don't know. _

_When the sun came up, he transformed back. His collapsed, and there was blood dripping from wounds where his body had been warped by the transformation. Maurice hasn't talked to me since then, though we're in the same infirmary, but Ren said that his memory of what happened is fragmented. ( ) sure if he just wants me to believe that, but I'm alive, so I guess that's what's important. _

_Ren's trying to get a hold of the Big Man and his alchemist friend, but they seem to be out of reach doing who knows what. If you could come over here and examine him, I'd be grateful._

_-Michael_

Dimitri sat back in the chair, eyes wide. “Miklan...” He breathed, turning to stare at Claude.

“Yeah,” The brunette said seriously.

“But how? Surely the Elites would have kept him away from their Holy Relics if he worked alongside them!” Dimitri said urgently, looking up and down the letter for some sort of explanation. “Did they loose the passage referring to it?”

“Hm, here's the thing,” Claude said, green eyes darkening. “Maurice apparently _had _his own relic. It's a magic-infused sword called Blutrang. Two of the other letters mention him fighting with it.”

“That's...” Dimitri swallowed hard, his throat unaccountably dry. “But if he had sacred blood, why would wielding the weapon hurt him?”

“I'm trying to find out,” Claude said, taking another drink. “Supposedly Miklan used the Lane of Ruin to turn the tables on his pursuers, so it obviously didn't transform him straight away. But you'd think that his gang would have noticed a halfway transformation that made him temporarily feral; yet they were as surprised as us when he became the beast. It makes me think that he must not have gone through this, 'phase' for lack of a better word, that Maurice seemed to have.”

“Why would it be different? ...Does it say anywhere which Crest he had?”

“No,” The brunette scowled. “Not even a visual description. Which makes some sense, seeing as everyone this guy Michael wrote to would have known about it already, but it does make my life a bit harder.” His expression became contemplative. “It does sort of remind me of an old wives' tale around the Alliance...”

“How so?” Dimitri blinked at him.

“Well, supposedly there was a cursed family that brought ruin and despair down upon everyone they came in contact with. During the day they seemed like ordinary people, but at night they would transform into Demonic Beasts and devour their neighbors.” Claude's lip twitched. “I always thought it sounded like a tacky campfire story, but reading this...I wonder if the myth's origin came from someone who knew Maurice, and used his gradual transformation against his family.” He shrugged. “Assuming he had one, anyway.”

A terrible thought struck Dimitri then. “If the relic transformed him in spite of him possessing the holy blessing...could that happen to any wielder of the Hero's Relics? To us, if we prove unworthy?” An icy finger of dread ran down his spine.

“I'm not sure what worth has to do with anything,” Claude half-muttered, squinting at the text.

“_Everything,_” Dimitri responded empathetically, figuring that Claude's Almyran upbringing might have affected his understanding of exactly what the relics truly were. “The hero's relics were gifts from the divine goddess Sothis. Miklan didn't merely lack a Crest, he was a vile man to his core. Who's to say that other Crest bearers who failed to act justly suffered a similar fate and were cast out of history?”

Claude sat back, thought for a minute, then cast him an easy smile. “Then I don't think you of all people need to worry yourself silly about it, Mitya.”

Dimitri wanted nothing more than to insist that his friend take this seriously – he didn't doubt Claude's worth as the rising wielder for Failnaught, not at all, but given that the other teen self-described as a schemer it was in his best interest to keep that in mind! – but he found himself stuttered a bit, embarrassed by the compliment...and a little ashamed, as well.

_Of course you can say that with a smile. You haven't seen the Boar. I've kept that side of myself hidden from you so far...except for that slip against the Death Knight, and you were preoccupied enough that you didn't comment on it. Or chose not to. _

He looked back at the brunette, trying to find his train of thought before it slipped away. _The difference between your smile when you're playacting and when you're honest is both small, yet significant...I think I can finally, confidently say I can tell the difference..._

“As adorable as you look absorbed in that book, Riegan, I feel like I have to remind you not to run off with any of Atra's hard-won collection.” A smooth voice interrupted his thoughts abruptly. Dimitri blinked and glanced over his shoulder to see Yuri lounging against the last empty chair at the table, a small smirk on his face.

“I wouldn't _run off _with it_,_” Claude replied, mock-affronted. “I'd only be _borrowing; _I'd bring it right back when I finished.” He gave the purple-haired teen a beseeching look. “You wouldn't deprive a curious man of the most authentic information he's been able to get his hands on, would you?”

“Reference books can't leave the library,” Yuri responded lightly, dragging the chair back with one ankle and sitting down with lazy grace. He pressed two fingers against the top of the open book. “You'll just have to come back here to read it again. Oh dear.”

“You want a surface dweller constantly going in and out of these parts?” Claude smiled innocently in turn, lightly batting Yuri's fingers away. “I wouldn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.”

“Is that right?” Yuri retorted, his smirk widening a bit as he nevertheless retracted his hand. “I suspect you're the type to get into theoretically secure places quiet and unseen. After all, you're the only student I've frequently spotted investigating the hidden passageways.”

“...How do you find the time for that, between your classes and all that studying you do?” Dimitri wondered, partially out of genuine curiosity and partly spurred by a strange desire to interject.

“I multitask,” Claude replied blandly; he was unaffected by the prince's disapproving frown. “You know, you're much more personable when you aren't hitting me in the face with white magic. I thought I was gonna go blind for a second!”

“Heh...sorry,” Yuri said with a slight shake of his head. “I could say I was on edge, but honestly, at some point during our little dance I was more invested in not being outwitted than anything else. I have a reputation to maintain.” He tucked a stray strand of his hair behind his ear. “I promise you weren't ever in danger. I wanted to win, but I hadn't _completely _discarded my wits.”

“I'm sure I would appreciate that even if I woke up seeing nothing but white,” Claude deadpanned.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, my leg still aches a bit where you stabbed me, so I'd say we're about even.” Yuri riposted. “You're the first lord I've met in a while who keeps knives on his person. The rest don't seem to find that practice 'honorable'.”

“Conflict is ugly enough without deception,” Dimitri grumbled, frowning. “If you're going to end someone's life, you owe it to them to look them in the eye. If you can't do that, then perhaps they don't deserve to die.”

“A very northern philosophy. Then again, you are the prince.” Yuri eyed him with that same unnervingly neutral expression he'd seen in Claude. “It's a little funny, seeing you two fight side by side and generally act like good friends. I would have thought you're respective positions would demand a certain amount of distance.”

“And I would have thought that a street orphan wouldn't have any sort of connection to the next Lady Varley, yet there clearly is one.” Claude retorted easily. Yuri blinked twice and raised an eyebrow. “Seeing Bernie not panic in the face of aggression is a hard thing to miss. How do you know her?”

“It was a long time ago,” Yuri said dismissively, though he eyed Claude in a way that made something in Dimitri's stomach prickle with discomfort. Was it admiration, curiosity, something else? Why did the violet-eyed teen keep looking at Claude like that?

“Come on; you shouldn't fish for secrets if you aren't willing to give up a few of your own,” Claude chastised him, putting his hands behind his head.

Yuri's lip curved upward. “The other lords at the round table must think you're a handful.”

“Admittedly, I don't think Lord Gloucester would loose much sleep if a terrible accident happened to render me mute.” Claude said the words so casually Dimitri wondered if he'd imagined them; Yuri's other eyebrow rising a bit informed him that he had not. _And Balthus had said the man was paying for blackmail he could use against House Riegan... _“But I think Holst Goneril likes my sense of humor, so it's a start!”

“...I think I like you, just a bit.” Yuri laughed. “Well, you'd best finish what you're reading there quickly. My men have reported back about the mercenaries; they're making another go at Abyss very soon. Once everyone's awake, I'll lay out the defense strategy we've set up.”

Dimitri nodded stiffly. He decided right there that he didn't like the pleased smile Claude gave the Ashen Wolf's leader in return. _You just met him, _he thought sourly. _You don't give you trust easily. Why are you smiling like that at him? It's not a warm smile, but it's genuinely full of amusement and interest. I don't like it. Aren't you wary of him? _

Even Claude's knowing wink when Yuri turned around to break up a budding bar brawl didn't totally dislodge that agitated feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: (flops down on bed and scowls at muse) Can they kiss yet? Please?  
Muse: (lightly smacks me with a stuffed animal) You are dealing with three emotionally damaged teenagers. They have to feel safer first. And figure out at they're bisexual after years of passive-aggressively being reminded that they need to marry a wife and have lots of babies.  
Me: (whines in frustration) 
> 
> So. Lots of character interaction here; it kinda took over this chapter, to be honest. I thought about getting into the next big fight scene at the end of the chapter, but it felt rushed the way I first planned it, so it'll be next chapter. I hope you guys enjoy a break in the action!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude learns a few things, flirts a bit, and does a fair amount of counter-sniping.

Despite what he said, Claude wanted _very badly _to make off with some of the mysterious 'Atra's' collection of banned and lost lore; but both his resurrected sense of decency and the warning that the girl may well kill him for it stayed his hand.

Letters from the 10 Elites; possibly written by his own ancestor! The increasingly clear information that what happened to Miklan was no anomaly; and that the truth about the Hero's Relics might be within arm's reach! Other letters, forbidden lore and so much more was hidden in a gorgeous massive library within the Abyss, carefully curated and tended to. He hadn't even scratched the surface in the twenty or so minutes he spent browsing the shelves and charming the reluctant librarian into allowing a mysterious surface-dweller to take one of the books away to read.

It was nearly enough to make him forget exactly why he was down here, so far away from the warmth of the sun. (_By any and all divinity that might pity humanity, how could anyone _bear _to live down here?_)

Fortunately, Yuri's revelation that information – and likely another attack – were on their way was enough to draw him back to the present.

“So exactly what should I be expecting to happen when Yuri leads us into your terrifying maze of confusion and despair?” Claude asked Balthus with a bit more faux cheer than was strictly necessary when the older man joined him at the blacksmith for repairs and reinforcement work on their respective weapons. “I mean, how many people are willing to crawl around in dark tunnels for hours on end for the nebulous hope of treasure?”

“Can't be sure,” Balthus said lightly. “Last time it was somewhere around a hundred, all hired goons. Comparatively cheap muscle, sure, but there was a lot of them.”

Claude coughed to cover up a choking fit. “I'm sorry, _what_? How in the _blazing eternal flames _did over a hundred mercenaries get down here without _anyone _seeing them approach the damned monastery?”

“No idea,” Balthus replied sourly. “And it's really bugging Yuri that he can't figure it out either. Best we can gather, they've found underground entrances further away from the building and slip in one group at a time. So the good news is that if they do arrive in numbers like that, we won't be fighting them all at once.”

“Glory,” Claude replied fatalistically, before accepting his newly forged iron bow and the silver bow he'd just bought back with a smile at the well-built blacksmith. The older man gave him a bemused smile in return before returning to the forge to continue his work on the arrowheads and Balthus's gauntlets. “It's a good thing my classmates aren't the kind to freak out, because we're going to have one hell of a story to tell when we go back up there.” A thought swam up that made him chuckle. “Though Felix might throw an epic hissy fit when he finds out he effectively slept through another grand struggle he could have tested his skills on.”

“Felix? Oh, I think I remember him!” Balthus said cheerfully. “He's that touchy blue-haired kid from the Mausoleum, right?”

“You saw-?” Claude stopped and then rolled his eyes. “Of course. They would have had to use the underground system to sneak the Western Church mercenaries in, and Yuri would have noticed. Thank you ever so much for just standing around watching us fight, that was a big help!”

“Hey, I would have been happy to jump in!,” Balthus protested, giving him a wounded look. “Yuri did too; but he was worried it might violate the terms of our agreement with the Archbishop, and potentially put Abyss in danger. We care a lot about protecting the people down here, and you guys seemed to be completely on top of things. Granted that creepy guy on the horse didn't join in...” He shook his head and gave Claude a serious look. “If he _had _moved against you, we would have jumped in, no question about it; that's why we stuck around for the whole fight. I promise.”

Claude eyed the older (and taller, annoyingly...he wondered how Teach was feeling having to look _up _at someone for once) man carefully for a minute before nodding in acceptance. It wasn't just the intense seriousness in the jovial brawler's eyes that convinced him; Holst considered the man a good friend, and Claude trusted the guy's judgment. “Alright, I can accept that.” He rolled his shoulders. “Surprised Holst never mentioned you across all the times I saw him; maybe he did and I forgot, because you do seem a bit familiar.”

“Eh, Holst knows where I am, so he keeps quiet to avoid tipping off any 'interested parties',” Balthus shrugged before grinning again. “Besides, you didn't need to hear about me from him specifically. I'm the almighty King of Grappling, after all!”

“...Huh. There's a name I _know_ I've heard.” Claude's lip twitched upward. There were a lot of street-level stories about a brawler without peer circulating ever since he first arrived in the Riegan dukedom. “Somehow none of those awe-inspiring stories mentioned debtors. Though those make for very good songs.”

Balthus just chuckled in response. “Yeah, they sure don't.”

Claude couldn't say that the easy banter they fell into afterwards made him fully relax, but it at least made him feel a bit more comfortable. Fun as Yuri was to talk to, he knew from their first proper conversation that right now, he couldn't afford to trust the guy very much. Byleth, sweetly compassionate and naive as she was, had chosen to do so, which meant he had to watch over her and make sure they weren't getting lured into a trap.

Which kind of sucked, because Yuri was _fun._ He never got to talk to someone who was _so much _on the same wavelength as him, especially one who indirectly acknowledged that they had secrets they were keeping to themselves. Maybe if he could suss out what Yuri was sitting on and help him with it, he could cut through the knot and turn the guy into a proper friend. _Maybe, indeed...living with Teach is turning me into an optimist. _

The blacksmith emerged again, handing him his quiver. Claude paid him and added an extra tip for his services – much to the man's shock. (He could feel Balthus's eyes on the back of his head, and briefly wondered if he'd just passed some sort of test.) He pulled a few of the arrows out and was pleasantly surprised to see the spiked barbs on the heads of several of them. _Anti beast arrowheads, designed to pierce the hardiest scales, and I'm getting them for cheap? A quiver of these cost an arm and a leg in the Empire._ “You see beasts down here often enough to stock up on these?” He asked curiously as he twirled the arrow around his fingers.

“Something like that,” The blacksmith said gruffly. “Don't forget to send the other two down this way so they can pick up some for themselves. Who knows what those surface dwellers will bring with them next...”

“Got it.” Claude bowed in gratitude and strode out of the forge, sliding the quiver over his shoulder and very much enjoying the startled stammering he could hear behind him.

Walking out into what he tentatively considered the 'main roadway' of Abyss showed him a low buzz of activity a bit too furtive to be the normal daily routine. The children he'd seen happily playing in the roads are missing, likely hidden away in the homes or perhaps taken away from Abyss entirely to hide away in passageways meant to aide in escapes. The older civilians who were out and about looked grave and wary; several of them shot him looks that varied between hope and uncertainty. Claude wondered how bad the previous attacks had been; both Yuri and Constance had only described them in passing, with the latter mentioning hostage-taking but no deaths. Either way, though, the people here were clearly fearing for their future.

“Eeeek! I'm really sorry Hilda broke your armor I didn't mean for your nose to get knocked out of joint pleeeease leave me alone!”

...Some for different reasons than others, mind you.

It was a tragic fact that Claude immediately recognized Bernadetta's panicked babbling admist the general chatter and from fairly far away as well. Shouldering his bow, he wove his way through the crowd and followed the voice until he reached it's source. Happily enough, what was transpiring wasn't serious. As a matter of fact, a rather-tough looking guy was attempting to hand Bernadetta a freshly-repaired (and unless he missed his guess, newly-reinforced) bow, and he seemed fairly distressed by her terrified, arms-raised-to-cover-her-head-from-a-blow cowering.

Claude gave his head a slight shake and strode over to salvage the conversation. “Hey Bernie, what's the matter?” He called easily.

In lieu of responding, Bernadetta shot over and immediately hid behind him, grabbing his elbows and turning him into an impromptu human shield. “He attacked me during the fight,” She informed him meekly. “He broke my bow and that made Hilda really mad so she clubbed him, broke his armor and hurt him. He must be really mad at me!”

“Wha-? No, no,” The man said, shaking his head and looking pained. “I'm the one who screwed up. I nearly seriously hurt her, 'cept she wasn't an invader at all. I earned those bruised ribs.” He scratched the back of his head and tried to look past the brunette to give the girl an apologetic bow. “I did snap her bow in the fight, so I figured I ought to fix it up and give it back. Y'know, to apologize? That's all.”

Claude hummed in understanding, while Bernadetta let out a half-defiant, half-frightened whimper and clung all the tighter to him. “Don't take it too personally; Bernadetta is nervous around new people.” He held out his hand. “If only the other Alliance lords were this considerate; would make the round table conferences less migraine-inducing. Do you know much arm-twisting it takes to get an _insincere _apology out of one of them, much less actual restitution?”

The man let out an uncertain laugh that steadied when Claude grinned in response to it. “It's tough to be the guy in charge sometimes, huh? Pity none of those power-grubbing lordlings never think about what power means once they've got it.” He took the silent cue and handed the bow over to him. “I better go get ready myself. The boss's plans have many moving parts.” With that, and one final guilty look in Bernadetta's direction, he vanished back down one of the roads.

Claude let out a breath and turned around, gently pulling his arms free of the slender girl's grip. “Did you sleep well, Bernie?”

She nodded a bit jerkily, accepting her weapon back gratefully and pressing it against her chest. “Yup. Though I wonder what Marianne and the others are thinking right now. I mean, what would have Captain Jeralt have told them?”

“Probably that we're on some sort of emergency mission,” Claude guessed, taking her hand in his and starting to lead her back toward the blacksmith. “I'm assuming Lady Rhea has supported Teach's decision to help out the wolves, or else she'd have sent the knights down to retrieve us.” _With Teach being the number one priority...I bet Rhea knows why Teach is able to wield the Sword of the Creator, and why she has the Crest of Flames. I just can't figure out how or why... _“They'll be a bit confused, but that just means we'll have a hell of a story to tell them when we get back.” He chuckled. “Though I can't see Dedue or Hubert being very happy that their prince and princess were deployed without them. Mitya's going to have to endure a lot of scolding and hovering when he gets back, just watch.”

“W-Why do you call him that?”

“Hm?”

Bernadetta winced at his curious hum, but rallied – much to his pleasure. “I-I know why _you _call me by a nickname, because I'm your classmate and you are a horrible terrible tease to all your f-friends,” she stumbled painfully on the word 'friend', but went on before Claude could think of a way to pursue that reaction, “b-but Dimitri is the Prince of Faerghus. Isn't it, um, odd for you to be calling him by a nickname?”

“Well, you're a noble heir apparent of the Empire. Doesn't stop me from calling you Bernie, does it?” Claude smiled and shrugged. “Honestly...Mitya is my friend, and he doesn't mind it. You know, he'd be happy to be _your _friend too, if you wanted.”

Bernadetta squeaked, and her fingers dug into his hand in what he decided to be a fairly intense involuntary reaction. “M-m-maybe,” she stuttered.

Accepting that response for the moment, Claude let silence fall as he brought her over to the blacksmith. He did most of the talking for her, getting her quiver restocked, her sword repaired and getting a number of anti-beast arrows along with it. Bernadetta did pay and tip, managing a bow and squeaky 'thank you' before fleeing the forge. Claude exited himself and did his best to keep up, waving at Ashe when the latter turned the corner and spotted him.

He was headed toward market square when Bernadetta suddenly rushed back to him and hid behind him once again. Puzzled, Claude looked out from around the corner of the road and saw Yuri standing there, deep in conversation with a young woman roughly the same age as him.

She was...odd-looking, to say the least. She wore the loose-fitted robes of a swordmaster, but instead of having one sword buckled at her side, she had _two –_ one of which was a sword that flickered with red embers, dangling loose by her side without a sheathe. Her sleeves were rolled back, revealing rather pale skin that nevertheless looked like it had been repeatedly and _badly _burned by the sun. She was skinny rather than slender, suggesting that there had been times where she had gone without food for while, and her arms were scarred not just with the sunburn marks but sword and magic inflicted scars as well. Her raven-black hair was long and tied back in a low, practical ponytail, and she wore leather armor beneath her robes and thick gloves on her hands. Her back was to him, so he couldn't see her face, but calm nature of her gestures as she spoke with Yuri suggested she wasn't worried by whatever she was reporting.

_She must be one of Yuri's warriors and spies, _Claude figured. _Not sure I've seen anyone with that sort of coloring before...maybe she lived really far north in Faerghus, and her skin didn't respond well to the sunnier, warmer south? Ah, not enough information. _“So, how do you know Yuri?” He asked casually, grasping Bernadetta's wrist just in-case she intended to bolt entirely. She wouldn't be able to fight if she kept panicking every time she saw one of their allies.

“I don't know him,” She whimpered. “I've never met him before!”

“You sure? Because you're a little more skittish than usual around him.” Claude gave her wrist a gentle squeeze. “You know that if he tries to hurt you, Teach will kick his ass, right?”

“...I know that...” Bernadetta murmured, pressing her forehead against his back. She clung to him as though he was her salvation. “...I'm not afraid of him.” There was a certainty in her voice that surprised him, and he glanced over his shoulder at her. He could see her messy, spiky hair out of the corner of his eye, but not her face.

“No? Then what's the matter? Can you tell me?”

“...That's...” She swallowed hard over what he strongly suspected was a sob.

“...Would it help if I promise I won't repeat it to anyone, except Teach?” He offered gently, keeping one eye on Yuri and his companion to make sure they weren't being overheard.

Bernadetta took a deep breath at that, and let it out slowly. “...He looks like Micah.” She mumbled. “He's older, and taller, but he looks so much like him...”

“Micah?” Claude reached over and clasped her hand again, trying to communicate his support without badgering her with passive-aggressive pleas.

“Micah.” Bernadetta repeated weakly. “He was the son of the gardener at the estate when I was little. He was a commoner, born to no one of significance, but because he worked in the garden alongside his father, I saw him all the time once he arrived. His mother had died of an illness, you see, so his father had to bring him into his work residence.” He felt her press against his back a little more. “Father didn't really know what to do with me outside of my lessons, so whenever I had free time, I spent in the garden. He approached me one day, when I was all alone despite there being a party going on, and after that we became good friends.” She let out a shaky sob. “He...was my only friend...my only real friend.”

Claude had a sneaky suspicion this was not going to end well. In the Empire, it was downright audacious for Micah to speak to Bernadetta without first being spoken to, much less strike up a friendship with her. Their class divides were that strict. “Did something happen to change that?”

“He was...” Bernadetta hiccuped. “He was my best friend. Do you understand?”

_...Honestly, only a little bit. I've only recently _had _a best friend. _“Yeah.”

“W-Well...when I turned eleven, my father started talking all the time about getting me betrothed for marriage.” Bernadetta sniffed. “My mother tried encourage me one day to pick a noble boy I found interesting, but I threw a tantrum and insisted I wouldn't marry anyone but Micah. B-Because a husband is a best friend that you get to keep forever and ever, r-right?”

“In theory, that's...basically the definition of it.” _At least in Almyra. _

Bernadetta's grip on him tightened, and he could feel her hands shaking. Turning around, Claude slid an arm around her back and tugged her into a hug, letting her bury her face his shoulder to muffle her sobs. “My...my father...” she tried, coughing. “My father...was so angry...”

“It's okay,” Claude murmured, rubbing her back soothingly and rather wishing he'd left the subject alone. _I feel like I just kicked a baby wyvern in the wing for the fun of it. _

“He...he told the household guard to...he held me still while they...” Bernadetta clung yet more fiercely to him. “He's...he's dead. He must be. He was...he was...”

“Shh...” _Teach might end up killing _me, _and maybe I deserve it. _“That's not your fault. It's his. And only his.” _I wonder what sort of diplomatic mission would give me the chance to poison Count Varley with something suitably unpleasant and untraceable. _

He kept saying variants of this, hugging her until she started to calm down. He was at a loss for what else to do, because for all that he'd learned about navigating other people's comfort zones, actually comforting someone was not a thing he had a lot of practice with.

In Almyra, comforting someone in public was almost a faux pass unless there was an ongoing funeral in the background. Their stance on grief was that those who died looked down on their loved ones before passing on, worried that their families would be unable to continue on without them. In order to prevent the ghosts from lingering or becoming trapped by that fear, loved ones had to appear stoic or even cheerful in the aftermath of loss; to reassure those they lost that they had inherited their strength, and that they were prepared to follow the road of life on their own two feet. To collapse was to chain your loved ones to your grief; to comfort someone before strangers was to insinuate that they were _not _strong enough to survive the loss.

His father had learned quite a bit about how Fodlan grieved from his mother, so Claude had a broader perspective, but it stood that he didn't have a whole lot of practice comforting others. Fortunately, his mother had taught him as well, so he was at least able to help Bernadetta rather than stand there uselessly.

Bernadetta took a few deep gulps, gripping his shoulder and visibly drawing strength from his easy, upright posture. She backed up a bit, rubbed her eyes and gave him a watery look. “I'm sorry...”

Claude gently ruffled her hair, and to his relief, the gesture made her smile just a bit. “Don't be sorry. Of course remembering that would make you upset.” He brushed her remaining tears away, with made her squeak and blush and back up a bit more. “Now let's go find Teach and the others, huh?”

The thought of finding Byleth clearly gave Bernadetta a sense of relief, so off they went, leaving Yuri behind them. But as they went, Claude was thinking on this story. Aside from his newfound semi-irrational urge to do have some form of harm or humiliation befall his classmate's father (since he was now _quite _certain of why Bernadetta was so terrified of the world outside her bedroom), he was remembering his breakfast less than an hour ago when Yuri was sitting right across from him.

The other teen's clothes largely hid it, but he had seen a thin white scar along his neck that he'd initially assumed he'd gotten in some scuffle with bandits or the like. That alone didn't necessarily mean anything, but now Claude was wondering – if he got Yuri's shirt off, would he find a mess of tell-tale scars from the last day he'd called himself 'Micah' and dared to befriend a girl 'above his station'?

_(There were other, appealing reasons to image Yuri without a shirt, but they were a lower priority right now.)_

Byleth wasn't hard to find; she was standing in front of the weapon's shop, a long lance tipped with a blade designed to slaughter heavy cavalry leaning against her arm. She was visibly still in conversation with the man in charge, pointing to a wall obscured by his current vision. And one of her hands held a very heavy-looking purse. Dimitri was hovering at her side, visibly trying to protest something that she was duly ignoring.

“-too much money to spend on me,” Dimitri was saying when the two of them came into earshot. “Professor, I swear, I can buy my own – ah, Claude!” His expression became one of relief when he spotted the brunette. “Thank goodness. The professor has spent over a thousand gold on me and is refusing my attempts to reimburse her; I need your help.”

“My students, my responsibility,” Byleth responded without looking away from the weapon's rack. The seller just looked utterly bemused; clearly the back-and-forth had been going on for some time. “We don't know what's going to come out of those tunnels. I want everyone prepared.” She turned and gave him a faint smile. “So just take the damned lance; I need my hands free.”

“I would help, Mitya, but I have a sneaking suspicion even I can't change her mind,” Claude said with a sheepish shrug. “Marianne tried to return that Levin sword after we came back from Duscur, but Hannah wouldn't take it. Said it was a gift for 'the kid's proteges'.” He put his hands behind his head. “You _could _try and negotiate later, if you want. But Teach is a stickler for giving us as many advantages as possible.”

Bernadetta shook her head. “Just give up, P-Prince Dimitri,” she said, surprising all three of them. “P-Professor wants you to be safe, so she's gonna buy you stuff. T-that's just what she's like.”

Dimitri tilted his head and looked curiously at her, then let out a sigh and opened his hand. Byleth unceremoniously shoved the lance into his hand, but there was a small smile on her face that looked kind of teasing. The seller chuckled at the display before reaching and pulling down a rapier from the rack nailed to the wall behind him and his desk. “Thank you,” Byleth said, accepting it from him and hooking it to her belt. Claude wondered why she was bothering with that before realizing, _she might be worried about bringing down the ceiling when using the Sword. _“What sort of axes do you have?”

“Well for the specialized stuff, we have the short ax and a single brave ax,” The seller said thoughtfully. “There are also the hammer if you're worried about armored knights.”

Byleth hummed thoughtfully. “...they would give us some trouble, since Linhardt, Constance, Hapi and I are the only magic users, and I default to using the Sword. ...How much for one hammer? ...Right, I'll take a hammer and the short ax. _That will give Hilda and Edelgard some options..._” She said the last sentence mostly to herself, then counted out the cost for those two weapons as he placed them on the table.

“Thank you. Now...” She turned and eyed both Claude and Bernadetta for a moment before turning back to him. “What kind of bows do you sell?”

The seller saw Bernadetta jump and smiled at her before returning his attention to Byleth. “Well, when it comes to something you'll not as easily get your hands on up above ground, we've got the killer bow and the brave bow. They'll be more expensive to maintain than what you're used to, but the metals needed can be found if you know where to look.”

“Would they need new arrows, or can the bows themselves be bought separately?”

“Well, they wouldn't be very useful if they needed specialized arrows on top of everything else, would they? No, you can just pick them up right away.”

“I see...” Byleth looked into the bag, eyebrows tabling as she thought it over. “Great. Make that two killer bows and one brave bow, and that'll be it.”

“Teach?!” Claude half protested, half...simply sputtered in amazement as the seller bowed and went to collect her purchases. Dimitri was too startled to do anything but gape, while Bernadetta looked like she might keel over for a couple of seconds. “Don't you _need_ some of that money?”

“Not really,” Byleth responded with a shrug as she emptied the purse onto the counter and started counting out the price. “The church's salary for professors is pretty generous. I've never had the need for much money, so if I have a lot of it, I'd much rather spend it on ensuring you are as well-equipped as possible.” She picked up the short ax and the hammer and promptly handed them off to Dimitri, who nearly dropped them out of surprise. “Take those back to Edelgard and Hilda, will you? I'll go and find Ashe afterwards, but I'm going to need to carry everything...”

“Ah-alright,” Dimitri managed, before turning toward Claude and smiling ruefully. “You're lucky to have her as your professor; you know that, right?”

“...Of course I do,” The brunette murmured, feeling a smile come unwittingly to his face.

The alliance noble ascendant inside him cringed repeatedly while the seller accepted Byleth's money and handed over the weapons (_you're already enough in debt to her as it is! She will _own _you if you keep letting her do this!, _the voice shrieked over and over until his more gift-receptive Almyran side throttled it into compliance), but he couldn't help but smile in helpless affection when she turned and placed the brave bow in his hands.

_My best friend, _he thought with a delirious sort of cheer when he closed his fingers around the expensive and _very useful _gift. _I have a best friend... _

_I need to do something for her birthday. Something spectacular, something extensive and affectionate. Big enough to properly convey how important she is to us ...I'll probably need some help. _He smiled to himself. _I can work with that. _

* * *

“...right. Thank you, Atra,” Yuri was saying when the officer's academy students and professor rejoined him in the 'meeting room' minutes later, armed with their new (and newly repaired) weapons. He was still speaking the mysterious swordmaster.“I know you're a busy woman, but I always appreciate it when you stop and lend a hand.”

“It's the least I can do,” The young woman spoke with an odd accent that Claude couldn't quite place. “But you'd better get moving. They'll be here soon enough.” She'd swept her ponytail aside at some point, allowing him to see that the back of her neck had also suffered that strange mixture of tanning and sunburn that he'd seen on her arms.

“Noted.” Yuri smirked.

The young woman – Atra – chuckled and shook her head. “You always look so confident,” she said. “You were listening when I told you how many were coming, right?”

“Of course I was,” Yuri said, mock affronted. “I have a plan. You know I always have one.”

“That is true,” Atra said, a smile in her voice. Claude had the sense that she was not a girl who laughed loudly, on the rare occasion when she laughed at all. “I rather wish I'd brought the others. They would have gotten a kick out of helping; unfortunately, they're tied up with a...slight problem near Remire.”

“Define 'slight problem', won't you?” Yuri asked coyly.

“You've got enough to worry about right now, Mockingbird.” Atra replied politely yet decisively, her hands on her hips. “Charming though your smile is.”

“I'll win you over yet,” Yuri swore, not seemingly the least bit put out by her refusal. Clearly he'd been trying to 'court' this story from her for a while. “Just you wait.” He gave his head a shake and once again became serious. “Once the trap is set, shift your focus to protecting the people of Abyss, _just in case _things go south. Consider this my last request for the duration of your stay.”

“Done,” Atra said simply, one hand dropping down to the hilt of the sword who's blade was licked with tongues of flame.

“What's the situation?” Byleth asked as they approached.

Something odd happened right before Yuri responded. Atra turned toward them, probably curious to see the outsiders that had been invited into the paranoid underground. However, her eyes briefly settled on Dimitri and went very, very wide – it reminded Claude of rabbits caught in a hunter's snare. Then she turned and left to preform her part of the plan at what was probably meant to be brisk walk, but betrayed a sense of shock and a jumble of knee-jerk emotions.

“Oh, it's you,” Yuri said lightly, turning to face them. “I was just heading off to ambush our attackers. You'll help out, won't you?”

“Does this mean that your enemies are drawing near?” Dimitri asked. His steel lance, short spear and horse slayer were somewhat awkwardly strapped to his back; Claude hoped he didn't have any trouble switching between them.

“Very good,” Yuri replied with a playful wink. “Heh. A friend I sent to the surface spotted some mercenaries. We closed off the entrance they used last, but it seems they've already found another one.” He kept his expression easy and neutral despite the undercurrent of frustration in his voice.”

“This is bad!” Ashe said in a fit of frantic alarm. “We've got to evacuate everyone from abyss as quickly as possible.”

“That won't be necessary,” Yuri responded calmly. “They'll be back soon.”

“Hapi and Constance?” Claude guessed.

Yuri shot him a smile that reminded Claude of girls who'd flirted with him throughout various balls when he'd first arrived in the Leisecter Allaince; lured by his exotic charm, mysterious past and quick wit, hoping to catch his eye and invite him into their beds in spite of their disapproving parents. It...was an appealing sensation, especially in the face of the mournful frustration and confusion sparked by both Dimitri and Byleth. Yuri was rather nice to look at himself, after all.

“Ugh, why...do I...have to go?” Hapi panted when she and Constance both sprinted into the room. The dark-skinned girl flailed her arms in frustration and scowled up at her friend. “No matter what we do, we're just gonna die in the end anyway.”

_Aren't you upbeat?, _Claude through dryly.

“Perhaps, but if we do nothing we're guaranteed to die, aren't we?” Yuri retorted lightly. Hapi rolled her eyes heavily, dusted off her legs, and nevertheless came to stand by her friend's side. “I assume the corridor is successfully camouflaged?”

“But of course!” Constance said loftily, jutting her chin out like such a proper noblewoman. “Our decoys shall prevent those scoundrels from chancing upon our living quarters!” She put her hands on her hips. “Do know that I am the bait upon your hook. If we fail, I shall be left dangling in the wind.”

“If we fail, _all _of us are up a creek,” Claude deadpanned, unable to help himself.

She pouted at him (probably for interrupting her) and responded eagerly, “Aha! That is true, but it must and shall be done! And so I will most happily accept the starring role of this-”

“They're at the entrance,” Balthus interrupted her this time, striding up to join them. Claude eyed his bare chest appreciatively for a moment (and was amused by Constance's dramatically put-out expression) before turning his attention back to Yuri. “They'll be coming in from the east.”

“The east...good. We're well placed. Go ahead and draw them deeper into Abyss, just like we planned,” Yuri instructed.

“You can't _possibly_ go into a fight dressed like that,” A voice said flatly. It took Claude a few seconds to realize it wasn't Hilda, but _Byleth_.

“Eh?” Balthus's confused response assured him that no, he hadn't imagined it. He wheeled around to stare at Teach, vaugely aware that he wasn't the only one. Byleth had crossed her arms and was frowning intensely at the taller man's open coat and distinct lack of armor aside from his arms and upper legs. “I'm a grappler, pal. This how I always fight.”

“You are literally begging to take a sword to the gut,” Byleth protested, shaking her head. She waved a hand vaguely at him. “Or an arrow. Or multiple arrows. Gut wounds are the _death keel _of soldiers of all stripes; it's a slow and horrible way to die and you don't even have your coat buttoned up! At _least _find some leather armor before you run out and get yourself killed by the first enemy you come across.”

“Grapplers fight light, kiddo,” Jeralt's voice interjected while Balthus stared confusedly at the blue-haired professor. “Most of them focus on armoring just their shoulders, knees and feet. War masters use more protection, since they use axes as well, but for the most part they prefer to keep light on their feet and overwhelm their opponents through sheer force.” The old soldier walked up to her side and eyed Balthus for a moment before saying with a smirk, “The open coat, however, I can't and won't justify.”

Byleth pumped her arms a bit in a display of frustration so open and audible Claude had to resist the urge to laugh or ask her if she was feeling well – he doubted she'd appreciate either. “He's going to get run through and I'm going to have to-” she stalled for a split second, then stomped her foot. “Ugh, _fine.” _She frowned at Balthus. “I'm going to find you once the battle starts, and you're going to stay near me so _someone _will be drawing the archers and lance wielders away from Fodlan's most obvious target. Alright?”

“Uuhhhh...” Balthus tilted his head and stared at her for a moment, looked at Yuri, Hapi and Constance – all who looked surprised or taken aback – then glanced over at Hilda. “Is...is the pretty lady always like this?”

“Sorta? She's usually more subdued...” Hilda said with a confused shrug. “But she fusses and worries a lot to make sure we're all safe. Since you're fighting alongside us...” She raised her hands, letting that speak for itself.

Ashe smiled brightly. “The Professor cares a lot about making sure everyone gets through the battles alright. You just set off her motherly instincts.”

“M-Motherly?” Byleth stammered, startled. “I-I'm not motherly.” She spun to face Dimitri and Claude. “Am I?” She asked hesitantly.

Claude grinned back at her and made a show of looking contemplative. “Wait, so you mean you _don't _do it intentionally? You fret more than my _actual _mom,” He teased. Dimitri, meanwhile, awkwardly looked elsewhere because he couldn't lie with a straight face if his life depended on it.

Byleth flushed a dark shade of red. Jeralt clapped her shoulder and said, “Alois is minding the rest of your brats for today, so don't worry about them.” He then turned his attention to Yuri, who had recovered enough to regard Byleth curiously. “So, how are we setting this ambush up?”

* * *

Claude couldn't help but whistle. Dimitri's gasp of awe when they entered the area was downright adorable, as far as he was concerned. “To think a place like _this _is below the monastery,” He said reverently. “How is that even possible?”

“If you told me, I wouldn't have believed it,” Edelgard murmured, walking in a circle as she stared up at the ceiling. Linhardt had nothing to say, gaping in awe at the structure.

Claude didn't blame them. Yuri had lead them through a series of tunnels that lead out into a massive fully-fledged arena, designed to accommodate hundreds of guests and multiple fighters in the pit at once. There were statues of the four saints in each of the four corners, and the ceiling was higher than even in abyss itself. _How deep beneath the monastery are we? _It was well lit with torches, and he could see from his vantage point multiple entryways from each of the four corners. Likely those would be where their opponents came flooding in from, lead here by Yuri's spies. According to the purple-haired trickster, a number of his own warriors would join the fight after the mercenaries took the bait and started to fight them. They just had to hold out for a bit.

“This is incredible,” Ashe said enthusiastically. “I thought it was amazing just seeing the Abyss, but to see _this _as well, I wonder how far deep the tunnels and spaces beneath the monastery actually go?”

“Isn't that a question,” Claude hummed, slinging his new brave bow off of his back. The special wootz metal felt incredibly light in his hands.

“Unfortunately it will have to wait for now,” Yuri demurred. “Come, everyone, let's get into the center.”

“We run the risk of being surrounded,” Byleth noted in concern as the Ashen Wolves started making their way down the stairs.

“Don't worry about it; I've kept that in mind” Yuri assured her easily. “We won't be alone for long.”

Jeralt snorted as he followed after them. “I sure hope your confidence isn't a fluke,” the old warrior said dryly. “This place could turn into a slaughterhouse in just a few bad turns.”

Yuri twitched a bit but didn't respond to that. Claude did see Dimitri give their surroundings a grim look before following at Ashe and Bernadetta's heels; he slowed down to stay at his side and lightly tapped his wrist, as if to bring him back to the present just as he had the previous night. The prince's ocean blue eyes blinked before settling on him; he gave him a small, grateful smile in return.

Claude's heart skipped a beat despite his best efforts.

“Wow, an underground arena? You sure know some great spots, Yuri,” Balthus was saying when they formed a circle in the middle of the arena floor. “Too bad we've only just now found it. We could have staged some games here instead of using it as an impromptu open grave.”

“Please don't put it like that,” Linhardt protested, looking vaguely green at the gills. He now had a steel shield on his arm, much like Marianne. It was limited protection, yes, but it was something.

“I heard about this place from someone back in town. It hasn't been used in a long time. Plenty of room to breathe, and to fall back or regroup if we have to.” Yuri stretched a bit and put one hand on the hilt of his sword. His fetter relic glittered in the torchlight. “I figured it could prove useful, so I spent some time clearing out the debris that was blocking the entrance.”

“It seems like a revitalized ruin...” Dimitri murmured thoughtfully. “I wonder when it was made, and how it came to be buried like this.”

“A good question. All of Abyss resembles a city closely enough to reasonably be the ruins of one,” Edelgard remarked. “How did that come to be...”

Constance let out another noblewoman's laugh, almost jumping in place. “This place is magnificent!” _At least she's enthusiastic?, _Claude thought while sweating just a bit at her reaction. “It is just spacious enough to contain my glory! I shall not hold back here!” _...I didn't think I'd meet anyone more excitable than Ferdinand or Lorenz, yet Fodlan continues to surprise me...for good or for ill. _

“Large. Isolated.” Hapi hummed to herself. “I wonder if it would be safe to sigh here.” _...um, what? _

“'Safe to sigh'?” Byleth parroted warily.

“When Hapi sighs, monsters come running!” Balthus said casually. He grinned at Edelgard, Linhardt and Bernadetta's poleaxed expressions. “No, I'm not kidding. Remember that snake we...kinda sorta sicced on you yesterday? That was her.”

“I don't think there was much 'kinda sorta' about that,” Jeralt rumbled darkly. Balthus and Hapi both winced and shed away from him just a bit.

“I wish, Hapi, but no. Absolutely no sighing. And Constance, be glorious in moderation,” Yuri ordered bluntly, narrowing his eyes at the blonde girl. His body language shifted from 'lazy and relaxed' to 'authoritative' in the blink of an eye, and Claude immediately figured that not only was Yuri the leader of the Ashen Wolves, but also a linchpin for Abyss as a whole. “Understood? This place is so big that if it falls, it will collapse all of Abyss. We can't let that happen.”

“I'm well aware of our aim!” Constance said loftily.

Balthus rubbed his face, looking more than a little concerned. “Sure, but that doesn't mean you can be trusted to show restraint...”

Byleth frowned a bit. “Don't get carried away,” She said...in what Hilda typically called her 'mom' voice. Claude was tempted to comment on it, but he was a few seconds too late.

“You as well?!” Constance swung an arm to the side, indigent. “I cannot fathom why I am being treated this way! Do you really think I would destroy Abyss in my attempts to keep it safe? Why, I should-”

The rumbling of a door being moved – and the thunder of dozens of feet rushing forward – cut off her complaint mid-rant. Yuri dropped into a light-on-the-feet combat stance and barked, “here they come.”

Byleth drew the Sword of the Creator and held up in front of her; even in the decently-lit arena, it glowed like a brilliant orange light of a lighthouse. Claude drew two arrows and strung them up, again marveling for a moment at the lightness of his bow and how _easy _it was in comparison to what he was used to, before fanning out alongside Dimitri and Edelgard.

The mercenaries arrived in force, spreading across one arm of the 'audience box' like a black wave. They all wore black, and none of them had symbols that he could discern unlike those who had sided with the Western Church a few months back. Claude could see assassins, mages, archers, warriors, brawlers and a dozen honest-to-guard cavilers riding some _very _unhappy-sounding horses. How they'd managed to bring those animals down here, the brunette couldn't fathom – never mind the delicate work of trying to get them down any flights of stairs on the way, horses just _did not like _being cut off from the sky. Only long months of training made them useful for mining. _So that's why Byleth insisted on the horseslayer. I guess she and Jeralt really have seen it all in the years they spent traveling. _

“Don't let them surround you, and don't let them lead you away from the center!” Jeralt warned just before the dozens-strong group descended on them...

...and immediately lost two people to a well-placed Bolting from Constance, who cackled loudly. “You shall not find it easy to escape the darkest depths of Garreg Mach!” She yelled, a blazing yellow Crest appearing above her hand as it crackled with magic.

Claude took that as a cue to start counter-sniping.

His first target generously made himself obvious by trying to take out Yuri, who merely vanished and teleported away before the arrow could hit him. The man had a few seconds to be surprised before Claude's counterattack slammed into his arm and shoulder, then his neck and the side of his head for good measure. _Two hits for one...Teach, you are too generous in your presents. _He heard the telltale _clang _of an arrow striking metal; spinning around, he saw another archer trying to pick off Linhardt, easily identifiable as a healer by his priest robes. He ran a few feet forward, closing the distance a bit, and fired back. His first shot missed; his second shot connected. “Stay close, Lin,” He warned the frazzled-looking magic user, who nodded frantically and gratefully.

The horses made their way down the stairs in a single group and charged forward, lances at the ready. Jeralt rolled one of his shoulders and nodded at Byleth. Some unspoken communication went between them, and she tossed him a javelin before flicking her wrist. The Sword of the Creator came unbound, and she lashed out with it – not at the first two cavaliers leading the charge, but at the ground, splintering it and igniting it with flame. The horses reared up and broke the line, taking off in two different directions as they split around the flames and their riders tried to get them back under control.

Jeralt took a few steps forward, flipped the javelin over in his hand, and threw it. The weapon pierced through the chest of the rider closest to him, throwing him from the saddle and leaving the animal dragging him along the floor by his ankle – still caught in the stirrup. Byleth threw one Nosferatu spell and then another one, forcing the man's companion to stop and back up while Jeralt ran across the distance to the cantering stallion, grab its reins while keeping up with it, and hoist himself up – easily and one-handed – into the saddle. The horse's original rider fell loose as the Blade Breaker took full control and swung back around to face the other mounted units.

_Well, _Claude thought, dimly aware of Ashe's amazed yelling. _They don't call him the 'Blade Breaker' because he has a habit of snapping training weapons. _Of course, a fire spell narrowly missing his head reminded him of his current priorities.

Another thunderous _crash _of Bolting hit an enemy brawler not too far away from him; Claude winced and wrinkled his nose against the stench of burning flesh as he wheeled around and put the man out of his misery with one arrow through the neck. Meanwhile, Dimitri grabbed the blade of an ax with one hand, his gauntlet just sturdy enough to protect him from the impact, and snapped it off its handle with the twist of his wrist. He then threw said handle like a hand ax at a warrior approaching Ashe from behind while the gray-haired boy was sniping a pair of mages trying to get closer to Balthus. The man died on impact, the ax blade all but _replacing _his skull. Dimitri staggered back a bit from the headbutt the warrior had delivered during his momentary distraction, and then slugged the man in the face. There was a painful-sounding _crack –_ likely the guy's nose breaking, or worse – and the warrior crumbled. _He's alright at the moment. _

Claude kept running from one position to the next, distantly wishing that he had Ivory with him (as if she, for all that she trusted and loved him, would _ever _let him lead her this far underground) as he loosed a few arrows at the cavalry headed toward Edelgard and Hilda. One staggered and threw its rider when it reared back in pain, removing him from the fight; the others unfortunately missed. But he wasn't the only archer watching them; Bernadetta's shriek of “why is this happening?!” rang out right before the flare of Indech's crest lit the room, followed by a storm of high-powered arrows.

The killer bow was infamous for trading some accuracy for killing power; while they were comparatively difficult to aim, an arrow launched from one hit twice as hard as conventional bows allowed. And with the Major Indech Crest creating ghostly 'replicas' of the arrow loosed that followed in immediate succession...

Well, two horses died instantly, the third fell and crushed its rider's leg underneath it, and the remaining two men were still staggering to their feet when Edelgard set upon them, decapitating one with the harsh swing of her ax and kicking the other in the face, downing him so Hilda could finish him off.

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude spotted (and felt, it should be said) the tell-tale warm glow of Physic; Linhardt wasn't idle, despite having to rush and keep up with his current guard.

He spotted an archer on the 'audience box', but just as he drew an arrow to take them out, they staggered as a silver blade rammed through their chest from behind. Yuri appeared in a flicker of light, casually slicing the quiver off the dying man's back and slinging it over one shoulder. He gave Claude a playful wave of acknowledgment before promptly vanishing again in a flicker of orange, confusing the hell out of the two brawlers that had rushed for him.

Giving Claude, and belatedly Ashe, a perfect chance to nail both of them with a flurry of arrows.

Constance was throwing both Fire and Sagittie at an assassin trying to make his way up the stairwell to the arena floor where she was standing, seemingly oblivious to the warrior rushing up behind her. Fortunately, Claude didn't even need to yell a warning – Teach appeared as if by magic, first blocking the woman several feet away from Constance, then cutting her chest open with one swing of the Creator's sword. Constance spun around, visibly surprised, and Claude returned his attentions elsewhere satisfied that his impomptu ally wasn't about to die.

“Watch your back, kid!” Jeralt yelled. Bernadetta squawked and jumped to the left, dodging an attempt to run her down by one of the remaining cavaliers. Claude missed the next few moments of that fight, owing to having to ram an arrow through the eye-socket of a brawler that suddenly got up in his face. When he glanced back, he saw Bernadetta with her bow changed out for her sword, now stained in blood, with Yuri standing protectively in front of her over the headless corpse of a mage. Jeralt rode on by them, having trampled the archer that would have been the enemy's backup.

Byleth, just as she had promised/threatened, wasn't far from Balthus's side, largely using the sword as a devastating whip of death against any mages that tried to come over and start something with the likely very resistance-deficient King of Grappling. Judging by the number of corpses/unconscious bodies surrounding them, he'd been keeping her pretty busy. Balthus at least seemed to be aware of this, shooting her a thumbs up after pummeling both a warrior and another grappler into submission almost simultaneously.

“You're weak!” Edelgard proclaimed angrily, throwing the short ax. It slammed into the chest of the knight approaching her, staggering him.

“Guess I've got no choice!” Hilda chimed in, right before bringing her hammer down on the man's head – instantly pulping the armor and the skull within it. Ashe fired a few arrows at the other armored knight approaching them; it didn't do much damage, but it did distract the man/woman for a few crucial seconds, allowing Hilda to reorient her momentum and slam her hammer into the enemy's chest, downing them.

Claude spotted the archer on in the box above them and shot him down with one arrow, before jumping back to avoid the down-swing of a knight that had decided the archer was a better bet than the ax-wielding warriors. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't accounted for Linhardt; Claude merely sidestepped and allowed the green-haired boy to throw a fire spell almost point-blank into the poor sap's face, heating the armor to an unbearable degree and melting it in places. “Thanks,” He said quickly. “C'mon, we need a new spot.”

“We do?,” Linhardt protested breathlessly, but kept up nonetheless when Claude sprinted off to the side of the raised arena rather than answering.

He shot two arrows in succession again; these hit the two mages bearing down on Dimitri in the back of the head and killed them instantly. “Thank you,” the golden prince said breathlessly before quickly adding a warning, “on your left!” before raising a bloodied javelin. Claude immediately dodged out of the way, letting Dimitri nail an assassin who had been coming up behind him through the face. Linhardt quickly cast a heal spell on the slightly bloody-looking prince, earning a friendly clap on the shoulder and an encouraging smile. _Asch's blood and bones, that smile should come with a warning. _Giving his head a quick shake, Claude scanned the room again.

He saw Hapi cast Banshee on an assassin, leaving the man strangely struggling to walk – his movements were like he was submerged up to his chest in water. Not that it mattered, since Jeralt rode by, skewered him, and dragged the body along for a several feet before throwing it at the backs of a pair of warriors. Before they could recover from the shock, he promptly impaled one on that same lance and had his horse stomp on the other's back, breaking their spine in more than one place.

Byleth darted in front of Ashe and launched the Creator's sword forward, jamming it's blazing blade through the shoulder of the grappler that had been trapping him between a wall and Balthus's fight with another warrior. She wrenched the blade free, shouted something Claude couldn't catch over the chaos and swung it again; this time the relic took the man's head clean off. Then she spun around and pressed a hand against Ashe's shoulder, clearly healing him of something.

“C-Claude!” Bernadetta's voice broke through the chaos. He turned and saw he pointing over at a group of warriors advancing on Hapi and Yuri, who'd appeared to give her some cover. “Help me!”

“Got it,” He called back, pivoting on one foot and taking aim. Just as Yuri disappeared in a flash of teleportation, taking Hapi with him, they unleashed a storm of arrows onto the warriors, killing or at least incapacitating most of them.

For a moment, the room was empty of everyone except them.

Claude took the moment not just to breathe, but to hurry and try and recover some arrows lest his quiver go empty. Ashe and Bernie were both doing something similar, with Bernadetta climbing up into the box to pick up one of the downed archer's quivers. Dimitri caught his breath and looked ruefully down at the snapped remains of the steel lance in his hands; Jeralt brought his mount to a stop next to the prince and tossed him down a replacement. Byleth handed Edelgard the short ax she'd retrieved while Hilda bemoaned her bloodstains on her skin. Balthus was buttoning his coat closed with a rueful look while Constance repeatedly raked her fingers through her hair, trying to put it back in a proper bun.

Yuri appeared in a flash on the raised arena, frowning at a bloody gash that had been cut into Hapi's shoulder. “I thought I told you to stay close to Balthus,” he grumbled, sounding slightly aggrieved as he raised a hand and the bright flare of Recover surrounded the injury. “You do remember you're not built to have axes hit you in the shoulder the way he is.”

“If I hadn't jumped in, you would have been in trouble, warping or no warping,” was Hapi's only rejoinder. Yuri muttered something Claude couldn't catch but said no more as he finished healing her.

No sooner had Claude halfway refilled his quiver did a burst of noise and activity sound at the far west corner of the arena. _More _mercenaries poured through, all the same as the previous – or were there more mages amongst this group? He couldn't tell, but he thought their might be.

“This...can't be the way to the treasure, can it?” One of them wondered, somehow not immediately seeing the scene laid out before him.

“All we have down here are your buddy's corpses,” Hapi responded dully, turning to face the new foes while the others scrambled to reorganize around her. “Why don't you just give up and go home?”

Naturally, the mercenaries responded to that with various cries of outrage (as if they hadn't _ever _been responsible for a scene like this) and to charge forward. Claude let out a tired sigh, caught his breath and readied his bow again, still on the lookout for other archers.

“Father, watch out!” Byleth's yell was quite timely; Jeralt yanked back on the reins just in time to dodge the arrows that would have killed his horse, or worse, hit him the leg and incapacitated him. The man quickly followed that up by urging his horse forward again, running right under the archer and expertly spearing the man through the shoulder despite the height, movement speed and the abortive dodge attempt making for shaky variables.

“Linhardt, heal Edelgard! That leg wound is bad!” Teach added quickly before throwing a Nosferatu at the assassin who would have finished the princess off otherwise; he'd caught her off guard and slit her leg, dropping her to the ground. The white magic staggered him, and then the blade of the sword rammed through one ear and halfway through his skull, killing him and inadvertently dropping his corpse on Edelgard's legs. In spite of this, as Linhardt cast Physic and Byleth kicked the corpse aside with a hurried apology and an offered hand, Edelgard accepted it with the same desire-laced, starry-eyed look she'd had in the forest.

Claude chalked Byleth's obliviousness to this as part of her unfamiliarity with emotions, yet doing so did not help him ignore the stab of frustrated jealously that lanced through him at the sight.

“Dimitri! Heads up!” He yelled when he noticed a pair of mages converging toward his prince. _The prince!, _he reminded himself as he fired the arrows that took one out and bought Dimitri enough time to deal with the second one himself. _Not your prince... _

“Thank you!” Dimitri called back, before running up onto the platform to join him. Claude was about to ask what he was doing, only to be surprised when the blonde grabbed his arm and pulled him down to his knees – allowing an arrow to whisk past his head.

“Nice,” He said, looking up and suddenly finding those worried blue eyes inches from his own. For a split second he could drink them in, his heart hammering; then Dimitri stood and raised him back to his feet as well; Ashe or Bernadetta had countered the sniper and brought him down. “Managing?”

“Yes,” The blonde panted. Claude had expected him to look weary or even pained in the soul, but instead Dimitri's eyes were almost blazing with feverish enthusiasm. “Yourself?”

“Well, I haven't unexpectedly run out of arrows _yet_,” He tried to joke, startled and a little off-balance by his observation.

At that, worry promptly became the dominant look in Dimitri's blue eyes, tamping down that strange and uncharacteristic glee. “Ah, that's not good. Stay close to me, I'll guard you.” Linhardt had gravitated over to Hilda, meaning he was taken care of for now.

Claude started to protest – why, he wasn't certain – but a fireball whipping past them reminded him what his priorities should be. “Thanks. I'll cover you.”

And back into the fray they went. Dimitri rushed past Constance and blocked the blade of the three assassins trying to make their way toward her via a stairwell. Claude shot the first one who tried to bypass the prince by climbing up onto the platform; it took two arrows to get past the helmet, but the man dropped. Constance said some grand thing about 'showing them with appreciation' that Claude's attention span was _not _good enough to catch before her hand cracked and yet another Bolting crashed into the arena floor, killing three brawlers in a single blow.

_She must have great magic reserves to be throwing so many of those around. Or maybe it's her crest-? Ah, focus! _Claude nailed the archer trying to take advantage of Dimitri's preoccupation with the assassins in the chest, killing him before he could fire his own sally.

Bernadetta fired another ghostly volley, thoroughly skewering a brawler who'd been chasing a bleeding Yuri as he weakly teleported to stay ahead. Byleth skidded to a halt next to him, took hold of his arm and cast Recover. Moments later, Yuri straightened up and grabbed his sword off the ground. Then he leaned over, gave Byleth a quick kiss on the cheek, and vanished. The way she jolted suggested she hadn't expected that reaction and was at such a loss for how to respond that she momentarily forgot she was on a battlefield.

Feeling a sudden jolt of pain, Claude winced and looked down at his hand. The arrow he'd been preparing to use was snapped in half between his fingers, and the splinters were stabbing through his damaged gloves. _Argh...picked up a cracked one, _he thought before snorting. _Oh, to the blazing flames with **that**, am I really trying to bluff myself? I should've been - damn it, focus Riegan!_

Again, fireballs are a good reminder of one's priorities. Claude spun, shot the mage down, and followed after Dimitri as he cut across the arena towards Balthus, who was holding the stairwell against a couple of assassins with Hapi's interspersed help.

Another Bolting came to their aid, smashing one assassin into the floor. Dimitri threw a sword he'd grabbed along the way, taking out the man who'd been trying to hit and run against Balthus, allowing the taller man to throw the guy he was holding like he weighed no more than a baby lamb and then stomp on his fallen body for good measure, taking him out. Hapi threw Miasma off at an angle, earning a scream of pain; Claude followed her line of sight to see an 'fortress knight' staggering, dropping his spear as he clawed at his helmet. Hapi promptly followed up that attack with another one, and this time the man was taken out.

“Bernadetta, heads up!” Ashe's voice made him turn around; Bernadetta was preoccupied taking care of a mage while an archer lined up against her. Ashe was having none of that; he took on a stance Claude recognized as 'Deadeye' and fired; the enemy was physically thrown backward into the wall by the impact. Bernadetta finished off the mage with her sword (it seemed her quiver was momentarily empty) and stammered out a thanks to the gray haired boy when he trotted over to join her.

Byleth was circling around Constance, who seemed to finally be feeling the effects of using Bolting so much; the blonde was swaying just a bit and rubbing her hands together as though trying to get them to stop shaking. A couple fresh corpses by her feet suggested that she'd doubled back to guard her when the use of the siege magic rendered her an easy target up close. Jeralt was still making the round on the coliseum perimeter, taking out a few mercenaries who had recovered from their initial defeat and were preparing to make another attack. Linhardt was leaning on Hilda, who looked a bit drained herself. Edelgard was standing tall and sure as ever, her heel planted on the back of a warrior who'd been reaching for his discarded ax.

“Mind yourself, handsome,” Yuri's voice came from directly behind him. Startled, Claude spun around to see Yuri grabbing a kneeling assassin's head in his hand before it was flooded with white light, causing the enemy man to scream and drop the sword he'd held at the ready. Casually dropping the head – Claude winced when he saw the blackened mess the flesh around the now-blank eyes – the disarmingly attractive Ashen Wolf winked at him. “Don't sacrifice all of you self-defense for keeping an eye on your allies.”

“Easy for you to say,” Claude complained, “oh ye who can turn invisible and effectively negate that concern completely.” He twirled his (slightly stressed) bow around his hand before saying, “but thanks, really.”

Yuri smiled lightly. “Does that buy me an honest conversation over dinner?” He asked playfully.

“Maybe _half _of one,” Claude responded, raising one finger. He couldn't help but smile as Yuri's innocent grin turned into a pleased smirk. _It's nice to have someone exclusively speaking your language, huh?_

“Perhaps you can have this conversation later?” Dimitri asked, with a strange and noticeable strain in his voice. “We don't know if there are more of them or not.”

Claude twisted to look over at the prince, frowning in concern. Dimitri looked...strangely stony-faced. “Are you okay, Mitya?” He asked in concern, wondering if the fight was getting to his friend.

The prince blinked twice and shook his head. “Ah...I'm a little out of breath, I admit.” He looked down ruefully. “And I've broken yet another lance.”

“Well, let's find you one, and quickly.” Yuri decided, jumping down the stairs. “If this is just another brief lull, we need to reorganize again.”

“Can't this just be it?” Hapi protested. She sounded more worse for wear, and Balthus was keeping close to her as they made their way to the raised arena platform again. “We've gone through dozens of them by now.”

“We're doing _very _well, considering the comparative numbers between us and them,” Byleth noted. The visible relief in her eyes was almost stark. Jeralt dismounted from his horse, which was frothing a bit at the mouth, and walked over to her with a very curious look on _his _face. “It's a good thing we came prepared.”

“I told you we'd manage,” Yuri said lightly, smiling at her. “You see?” Hilda made her way across the arena and presented Dimitri with the horse slayer he'd lost in a cavalier a while back, and a short spear one of their enemies had dropped. He thanked her profusely and asked if she was alright, given the amount of bloodstains on her clothes. She insisted she was alright, and Linhardt assured them that he was keeping up with the injuries.

Claude was a little surprised to feel the warmth of Heal rush over him, and even more surprised to turn his head a bit and see that Balthus was the one providing it. “You didn't notice that magic hit?” The _very strange _(because if swordsmen wielding magic was strange, this was far more bizarre than that!) brawler chuckled. “That's pretty impressive, because that burn looked like it hurt!”

Claude rolled his shoulders and was duly impressed to notice that yeah, it was moving more easily than it had been a few seconds ago. “Must have been battle fever. I _usually _notice that sort of thing.” His resistance to magic wasn't unforgivably awful, but he had to admit that it wasn't his strong suit.

This time, he only managed to grab just over a handful of retrieved arrows from Byleth when – once again, from _another _part of the room – _yet another _flood of mercenary reinforcements spilled into the arena, fresh and ready for a fight. “Alright, where's the treasure!” The lead assassin demanded. “I've had it with this Abyss!”

“Geez, will it ever end?!” Balthus demanded half in shock, half in frustration. “I love a good brawl, but I'm getting sick of looking at these fools!”

“I know, I know.” Yuri said with a sigh. “Thankfully...” He raised a whistle to his lips and blew it.

Almost all at once, warriors, assassins and rogues – all dressed in colors Claude had seen in the abyss – burst out of seemingly every corridor in the room at once. Surprise was total, and they fell on this new wave of reinforcements with the anger that only abused and harried people could muster. “..we're not alone,” Yuri finished, sounding satisfied. “Shall we help them clean up?”

Claude stretched, wincing at his aching muscles. “Well, I've got a few more knockouts left in me...but I think I'm going to sleep for a while after this.” He lined up another arrow. “Shall we?”

Tired but determined sounds of agreement came from all his fellow students. Byleth, looking a little tired but no worse for wear despite how bloody her clothes had gotten, merely nodded her agreement.

_I really hope I can sleep later, _Claude thought dryly as he made his way forward. _And not be kept awake wondering who the hell paid for that many well-trained assassins to go poking around in a place that most people don't or wouldn't believe exists. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew...another chapter got away from me...geez...so yeah, I left out the Death Knight's appearance because he should be far away from the monastery right now, and he doesn't do anything in Cindered Shadows except reinforce Edelgard's utter inability to control the most psychotic of her allies/minions. This battle...honestly isn't very fun in practice, and it kind of feels like it goes on forever, but I did like how I had to stratagize with the units I had available to me and conceptually it's pretty cool.
> 
> In other news, Claude is learning that his secret hunting can drudge up painful memories! Good thing he's somewhat sensitive. But man, writing that scene made me really wish that he had a support with Bernie in the game proper. I'm also having a blast writing his and Yuri's back and forth; I hope that shines through.
> 
> Also, Atra isn't important right now and won't be important for a good while, but I gave her a name and a distinctive appearance for a reason. Have fun speculating!


	21. Chapter 21

Byleth was focusing on not trembling as she made her way back to Abyss; an unearthly exhaustion lay over her shoulders like a blanket, stealing most of her sense away. She was aware that her father was hovering nearby, noticing – as he always did – that she was off-color, but maintaining her stoicism seemed to have fooled her students into thinking all was well. So she focused on walking steady and trying to will her headache away, all while suppressing the urge to snap at Yuri and the others.

It was irrational, completely irrational, and that was starting to drive her nuts. Yuri's confidence at how perfectly his scheme had rolled out was based in the fact that everyone had come out alive despite the odds; he had no way of knowing that she had turned back time in multiple moments to make that outcome possible.

_Have you never felt magical burnout before?, _Sothis asked; the green haired girl had been hovering at her side ever since the battle wound down to a close, comforting her with her presence. _You may not be Constance over there, but your magic reserves are significant enough to handle using Divine Pulse more than once. However, once those reserves are drained...Divine Pulse will draw on your life force instead, burn up your blood. That's why I warned you the power had limits! _

_Clearly I ought to listen more closely, _Byleth thought back dazedly. The fact that Sothis didn't respond by huffing and agreeing, instead continuing to look aggravated (which seemed to be her version of being worried...not unlike Felix) was not comforting. _Can...can this kill me?_

_Absolutely. _It was the frank, matter-of-fact way that Sothis said this that made her wince. Magical burnout was something the young Ashen Demon had always kept in the back of her mind, since she used white magic consistently in both a support an offensive capacity. She'd hurt herself before; endangered herself once or twice. But die?_ Your body is mortal, after all. It has its limits. I will support you as much as I am able, but I cannot give you any guarantees if you overextend yourself. _

_I... I see..._

_Do you? Do you have any idea what your death would do to these delinquents? To your father? To all the good that you can do for the world? _Sothis wasn't shouting or snapping; she just looked upset. _Do you really, truly understand?_

_Mercenaries are expendable; it's our purpose _Byleth thought back. _I've always been expendable. If that's what it takes to save them..._

_You are not expendable, Byleth Eisner. _Sothis frowned. _If you were to die, there will be left a void in this world and in the lives of everyone you touched that cannot be filled by any other. _

_...Don't misunderstand. I don't want to die. _Byleth gave her head a shake. _My job is to protect my employer and make sure their enemies are the ones to fall. Being a mercenary doesn't mean you're in love with death, however much you court her. It's just...my students come first. My friends come first. That's my duty. _

A familiar rough hand landed on her shoulder, startling her badly and completely distracting her from Sothis's response. “Hey,” Jeralt said gently when she gave him an agitated look. “What's the matter with you? We've been trying to get your attention for a minute now.”

“Oh...I'm sorry,” She mumbled, reaching up and rubbing her eyes. “I seemed to have tired myself out a bit in the last battle. W-what is it?”

“My goodness,” A new, gentle male voice said in a soft gasp. “She really does look and sound just like Sitri.”

The sound of her mother's name was a jolt down her spine. Byleth raised her head and blinked a few times, her eyes slowly focusing on the man she hadn't even seen appear in the passageway en route back to Abyss. He looked like he had aged beyond his years, many worry lines on his face and gray streaks in his brown hair. He wasn't very tall, and he wore simple, odd robes that nevertheless bore the emblem of the Central Church of Serios. His dark eyes were distant, lost in a memory as they slid over her. “M-Mother?” She said dumbly, shaking her head more fiercely to clear it. “You...you knew my mother?”

Jeralt ruffled her hair; she indigently swatted at him, her students were standing _right there_. “Kid, this is Aelfric. He's an old friend from back when your mother and I were both living in the monastery. Apparently since I left, the fool went and got himself named the Custodian of Abyss.”

“Perhaps I am a fool, but I think I am a fool who is quite lucky to have such company as I do down here,” Aelfric interjected, smiling a bit. Constance cheered at this; Byleth tilted her head to see Hapi smiling and Balthus looking smug, while Yuri had taken the sort of deliberately sweet look she often saw in small children...albiet with the hint of a smirk. Somewhere behind her, she heard Claude cough – followed by a muffled yelp and 'Mitya!'. Thankfully Aelfric looked amused by this rather than irritated, and kept his attention on her rather than her rowdy student. “Your father is exactly the same as I remember him. It's funny how these things happen, isn't it?”

“...You knew my mother...”

“That's right. In fact, I was one of the few present at the wedding.” Aelfric glanced at Jeralt and teasingly said, “I told you to trust Sitri's instincts. The mother always knows.”

“Yeah yeah,” Jeralt retorted, rolling his eyes.

“You look very tired, professor.” Aelfric said. “I'm sorry I couldn't arrive in time to lessen your burden during that terrible scuffle.”

Byleth shook her head, her mother's name bouncing around her skull. Then she let out a little yelp when someone grabbed her arm and slid it over their shoulders; she stumbled a bit and found herself staring at a visibly-concerned, visibly tired but still smiling Ashe had slipped up without her noticing and turned himself into a makeshift crutch for her. He was dirty, bruised and had many bloodstains on his clothes, but his cheer was holding. “Please don't worry, Bishop Aelfric,” He said politely. “We held together very well, especially since we'd never fought alongside the Ashen Wolves before. They were incredible! I have a long way to go before I'm as talented as any of them.”

Byleth suppressed an amused snort at the startled stares Hapi and Balthus both gave the boy. _Ashen Wolves, meet Ashe Ubert. _

“They are a brave and loyal group,” Aelfric agreed with a fatherly smile that made Ashe duck his head.

“We're touched, Aelfric,” Yuri said lightly, stepping forward and into her vision. “Though perhaps we should move this discussion back to the classroom? We're all a bit worn out from the skirmish, especially the professor.”

“Ah, of course. Can everyone walk for a while longer? It's a bit of a hike to return to the Ashen Wolf's classroom.”

A general tired mutter of acceptance met that question. Byleth tried to tug free from Ashe's grip so as not to weigh him down, but the boy held on surprisingly tightly and gave her his signature warm smile. “It's fine, Professor. Let me help you this time.”

She couldn't figure out how to object to that...and his smile was so warm that she found herself welcoming the gesture more than anything else. Bernadetta scurried up to her other side and grabbed her hand, blocking off Claude who had been heading her way as well. The brunette gave her an amused look and fell back a step to join Dimitri and Edelgard, who were talking quietly. Linhardt was hovering next to Hapi, who looked like she didn't know what to make of his visible interest in her, while Hilda was almost hanging off of Balthus's arm, chattering at him with enthusiasm as they began making their way back to Abyss.

Jeralt – seeing that she was effectively taken care of – strode ahead and started talking with Aelfric. Within moments, they were immersed in a dialogue that...almost sounded playful, by her father's standards. She couldn't help but marvel at that. Father was somewhat talkative among the mercenaries, but he was a quiet man, and just as often he would let them start conversations and go on without them, watching and listening in silence. When Alois had first met him after twenty years, he'd done his best to shoo his former apprentice away (_though clearly there were other reasons for that as well..._) Yet with Aelfric, he was talking and holding a conversation without any hesitation. The only other person she'd seen him readily and easily start a conversation with was Leonie.

_He'd never mentioned Aelfric to me before. Not Alois, either. He never spoke of his previous life, only small anecdotes about my mother. ...Sitri... _The feelings that she'd slowly begun to recognize whirled around inside her like a furious storm, making her feel sick. _Why, father? Why didn't you ever tell me anything? Did you think I would judge you for your choices? Babble to someone following us? I did not care enough to do anything of the like. It would not have hurt you to tell me about mother! _

She almost recoiled from that sudden, overpowering sense of resentment. She'd never directed such sentiments toward her father, the constant of her life. What was wrong with her?

“I have to say, I was a little worried at a few points back there,” Ashe remarked; he looked a little shaken, now that she thought of it, but he was holding up very well. “I know that Yuri's people were leading some of the mercenaries away and lightening our load, but it felt like we were being swarmed by an entire army. Ingrid's not going to be very happy when I get back and tell her about this.”

“Dedue might end up killing me,” Byleth said ruefully. “I'm not sure I blame him, either.”

“I would blame him; this is hardly your fault. We all agreed to go with you on our own power.” He squeezed her wrist supportively. “Besides, I don't think Dedue will be angry. He'll be frantic with worry, and upset that we didn't come and wake him so he could join us, but he won't be angry at you. I know he looks scary, but Dedue is actually a kind, caring sort of person.”

“...That's right,” Bernadetta admitted, startling her.

“Oh, when did you start talking to him, Bernadetta?” Ashe asked brightly.

The purple-haired girl blushed a bit. “W-Well, I find him in the greenhouse a lot. I-I like to take care of the plants sometimes, so...” She shook her head. “He looks really scary, but he's always nice to me, and he told me how to take care of the Duscur plants back in the third section. He also doesn't talk a lot, and doesn't mind it when I want to be quiet.”

“He's a good man,” Byleth agreed quietly, internally quite pleased to hear about another person that Bernadetta felt comfortable with. _I'm sure, if I double-check the schedules, I can ensure that they're together on chore rotation._ “It bothers me that despite that, he's constantly dogged by ridiculous rumors.”

She distinctly recalled coming across a monk during the search for Flayn who was adamantly accusing Dedue of being responsible; blathering on and on about how that 'miscreant from Duscur' was inherently a shifty, disloyal individual who grabbed a chance to make off with one of their women. Trying to get any _intelligent _information out of him had rapidly proven to be a waste of time, and only her threat of involving the Archbishop had prevented him from finding and harassing Dedue in person.

She'd ended up grumbling about it to her father over their semi-regular tea, and for some reason, she never saw that particular monk in the cathedral again.

Ashe frowned at the reminder. “Well, we'll just have to make it clear that if he's not welcome anywhere, neither are we.” Considering 'we' likely included Dimitri and quite possibly Claude...that certainly wasn't something any innkeeper, tavern minder or opera house would want to hear. Byleth thus filed it away for future reference, just in case.

“Right,” Bernadetta nodded solemnly.

Byleth heard Claude chuckle behind her, and briefly wondered why. Then she decided that she was too pleased that he was comfortable and healthy enough to laugh and joke around for it to matter.

They were slowly joined by the dozens of fighters that Yuri had corralled for this particular mission, all of whom were in quite high spirits. A number of them converged around Aelfric and Jeralt, babbling eargerly and asking the Keeper a dozen questions about when he'd arrived and if he was alright, what the news from the surface was, all sorts of things. Byleth was a little surprised to see how easily and warmly Aelfric's presence was received; with what she had been told and what she had overheard while in Abyss about the sort of people that were taking refuge here. However, she could just hear Aelfric calling for quiet, and patiently asking for them to ask their questions one at a time so he could understand what they were saying to him. “I can't assure your concerns if I can't make out a word being spoken,” He said half jokingly.

The group quieted, then one young man asked if he'd made it to the battle and if he'd gotten hurt. “Oh no, I'm fine. I'm sorry I couldn't arrive in time to be of assistance, but I was held up speaking with Lady Rhea. Now, what's this about a water leak...?”

..._He's quite different from Seteth, _Byleth thought as she watched and listened as her father's friend attempted to address all the questions, concerns and even an accusation or two one at a time. _He lacks that sort of aura of wisdom and authority the other man projects without really trying, but he's softer, more easily approachable. Seteth is attentive to the needs and worries of my students and I, but he's stern, and more intimidating by far. Some hesitate to approach him. _

On a lark, she glanced over at Yuri, Balthus and Hilda. Balthus was laughing at something Hilda had said and tugging at her pigtails, causing her to repeatedly swipe at him even as she cackled away herself. Yuri, meanwhile, had the look of someone who was thinking hard.

Byleth hadn't spent several months teaching Claude to be unable to notice when a clever boy was frustrated by something, but hiding it. It was in the disconnect between their eyes and their smile. _Honestly, I wonder if they were accidentally separated at birth. _

_Hah! If they didn't look so radically different, I would be inclined to agree, _Sothis said. _However, even half siblings tend to have at least a few features in common. They do seem to be getting along like a burning house, though. _

_So it seems. ...I wonder if that's just them trying to feel each other out._

_Oh, partly, to be sure, but do you honestly think they aren't enjoying themselves in the process? They look too amused for that, far as _my _eyes can see, _the girl said this with an annoyingly knowing grin. _That little 'thank you' our mischievous wolf bestowed upon you proves that he loves teasing far too much for it to be an affectation. _

Byleth's blood raced at the memory. If either of her hands were free, they would have shot to her cheek where she could _still feel _the brief but searing sensation of Yuri's kiss. It was so mysterious and yet so _strong _that once her mind recalled it even for a moment, it completely dominated her thoughts. A fire burned underneath her skin, unstoppable and inescapable.

_My dear, darling Byleth, please tell me your father has not left me to explain the matters of boys to you, _Sothis teased.

_It is not so, _Byleth protested, fighting against the burning heat she could feel rushing to her face. _I am perfectly aware of t-the _mechanics _of such things! I just – I have never – I don't know what to... _She fumbled, grasping for words, her tired mind spinning quite fiercely to the point that she nearly tripped over her own feet. _I...I..._

“Professor? Are you okay?” Ashe's worried voice cut through her internalized confusion. _Panic, it was panic. _

“Y-yes, I'm sorry.” She made herself smile a little for him. “I am clearly overtired, and my mind is running away from me.”

“I understand,” He smiled back, relieved, and she strangely felt a little guilty for not being honest. “Hopefully when we get back we can sit down, rest, have a bath and a good meal...just something nice and calming before we go back to information hunting. At least, I assume that's what we'll end up doing...”

“Possibly. Though I admit nothing has really gone as I expected it to ever since we entered these tunnels.” Garreg Mach was poised to throw one surprise after another at her, rattling her and everything she thought she knew about herself. Maybe that's why she got the occasional odd impulse to flee far away in the middle of the night sometimes.

* * *

Thankfully they made it back to Abyss with no further incidents, and they must have looked pretty universally tired, because Aelfric shooed them away to rest and recuperate. Byleth took that offer to go straight back to the 'dorm', collapse on the bed and go to sleep almost instantly. It wouldn't have been too out of line to say that her body had simply shut down upon returning somewhere safe.

Her dreams were confusing; incoherent string of images, voices, music flashed before her eyes.

_She saw brief moments where blazing red javelins cut across the sky, falling to the earth like stars torn from their places in the heavens. When they struck the ground, the world beneath them erupted upwards; the air turned foul and hot – so hot that the a single gulp far away from the tall unnatural flames tasted more foul and terrible than the worst of poisons. She held out her hand and there was a brilliant, blazing flare of light – as if she was holding a piece of the sky within her hands – and then cast it down at that poisoned, burning earth; it landed with a mighty crash and brilliant, purifying light flooded through everything, stretching out in all directions, striking her with a physical force that threw her back, back, back..._

_She saw a world that was barren, burning, poisoned. She saw humans twisted into terrible forms, sickly in ways she could never have imagined on her own. What wasn't burning was simply dead. There was a flash of green; when she looked into it, she saw the silhouette of a person walking across this abandoned wasteland..._

_...and where she walked, grass sprouted from the ground, follows bloomed, and water lost its sickening black taint. Byleth ran (floated? Was carried?) after her, after the one light in the darkness, who came to a stop in front of the twisted remains of a tree. The figure lay her hand against it, then traced her fingers up and raised it to the sky. Life exploded into existence before her eyes; the tree shot up, widening, growing, branches sprouting out and filling with healthy green leaves. _

_The figure let out a soft sigh, a tiredness in her voice. Byleth tried to take her hand – to offer her support – but the slender hand gently pulled away; then the figure rose off the ground and flew upwards, a shimmering wave of that golden-green light spread out behind her like the train of a queen's wedding dress. The figure then flew forward, leaving Byleth to chase after her, watching as the sparkling dust that fell in her wake landed on the ground and sprouted trees, bushes, flowers. Pure rivers seemed to burst from nothing; lions, wolves and deer alike ran at her heels and alongside her while eagles soared overhead, all of them trying to keep up with the Mother. _

_Sunlight burst through the sky. It was a single ray, and when Byleth looked up, she saw another thin ray, then another piercing through the thick cloud of _black _that covered all that she could see, ash falling from them like rain. The glimmering figure of the woman – of mother – completed the circle she had flown around the mountains, now blanketed with sparkling white snow, and burst upward with a thundering _crash _and a flare of light so powerful Byleth had to shield her eyes for a moment._

_The wind whipped through her hair, blowing away the ash that had settled in it. As Byleth looked up again, the black clouds were dissipating – blasted into nothing as though they'd never been, the grime and sickness within them purged until white fluff remained. The sky was a clear, glorious blue; all around her, she could hear cheers from the other humans even as she ran, following the descent of the figure toward what looked like a valley..._

“_**Mother...you must rest...”**_

_Byleth blinked. Suddenly she found herself standing in the greenhouse at Garreg Mach. _

“_...of flames ever burning bright...” a voice hummed. Byleth blinked, and her eyes quickly found the source. A young woman with long light green hair was kneeling in the dirt, happily singing to herself as she tended to one of the flower bushes. She wore a dark green dress, and her hands shook a bit as she worked despite her enthusiasm. _

_**...I know her... **Sothis's voice whispered. **I don't know how, but I know her...**_

_Byleth took a hesitant step forward; as she did so, the door to the greenhouse opened behind her. “Sitri!” A young voice called. _

_The woman twisted where she knelt, looking straight through Byleth with a face exactly like her own. Her already warm expression grew even brighter when she saw her visitor. “There you are,” She laughed. “You're late.” She stood up and started to walk toward that person - _

_-toward Byleth-_

_Byleth reached out to touch her, to take her hand and hold it - _

Her eyes fluttered open. Hilda was leaning over her, frowning in concern. “Professor? What's the matter!”

Byleth sat up with a start, nearly headbutting her student in the process. Her eyes frantically scanned the room as if expecting or hoping to find her mother there, waiting for her. But there was nothing, and as her mind continued to wake up, she didn't know why she expected anything else. “Oh...Hilda,” She said, her shoulders slumping. “Has something happened?”

“Uh, no...just wanted to check on you,” Hilda said with a frown. “You've been sleeping like the dead for ages now. Tried to shake you and whatnot a couple of times, but nothing took. I was a little worried, and I'm never worried!”

“'Ages'?” _Oh, this is a consequence of stressing Divine Pulse, isn't it... _“How long have I been asleep?”

“At this point? About a day and a half,” Edelgard's voice drew her attention to the door. The princess was leaning against it, while Bernadetta and Constance were both sitting on the bed across from her – albiet Bernie was on the _very edge _of the mattress in order to put some distance between herself and the overly energetic blonde. “Linhardt had a look at you at one point; he said there were traces of magical exhaustion, but nothing serious.”

“I told him that couldn't be so!” Constance said before pointing dramatically at her. “I have been watching you, Byleth Eisner, and you only used magic to heal but a few times throughout the fight! 'else you only fought with your relic or your rapier. How could you possibly have used enough magic to strain yourself so?”

“A day and a half?” Byleth blurted, skipping over that for a moment. “Has anything happened?”

“No, nothing of note. Our 'team', such as it is, is devoted to research for reasons that shall quickly be explained to you.” Edelgard's eyes narrowed a bit. “But don't try and worm your way out of Constance's observations. How did you manage to exhaust yourself so, Professor? I don't believe your magic reserves are so shallow that you'd burn through them with mere few healing spells.”

Byleth looked at the wall of attentive faces, Hilda and Bernadetta and Constance (surprisingly) looking concerned, Edelgard determined. She tampered down on a worried noise. What in the world should she tell them? _I was gifted a divine power from a spirit that inhabits my mind and possibly my body as well. Yes, that absolutely does not make me sound like a madwoman... But then what _do _I say, since they're clearly waiting for an answer? _

**_The truth?, _**Sothis suggested with a shrug. **_It may rattle their close trust in you if you lie to them_**.

Byleth hesitated, then started to say, “there's something about me that I haven't-”

She was cut off by none other than Aelfric appearing in the doorway. He looked surprised for a moment, and then relief flooded his face. “Ah, it's so good to see you awake, Professor. How are you feeling? Do I need to fetch Yuri? I believe he's finished interrogating those men we captured.”

“Oh...I'm fine,” Byleth responded. Edelgard sighed but willingly stepped aside. She must have known that she had time to renew the interrogation later. “I feel alright, at least. Has something happened?”

“I was just coming to check on you. Jeralt has been in and out of your room, the same as your students. You're fortunate to have so many good friends to watch over you.” Aelfric smiled as he said this. Byleth was blinking rapidly; before she could try and formulate some sort of response to that, he went on, “Now that you're awake, I ought to get you caught up on the situation. Unless you would like something to eat first?”

“I think-” Her stomach growled. Byleth ducked her head a bit, another odd feeling snaking through her (_embarrassment?_) before amending that to “well, perhaps food _and _an explanation can happen at the same time. If that's alright?”

“I don't see any reason why not,” Aelfric chuckled. “Now let us go, and gather your students and my wolves as we go. There's no reason any of us should have to work on an empty stomach.”

Hilda grabbed Byleth by the arm and hauled her to her feet, ignoring her protests that she could manage on her own. Bernadetta shot over to her usual place; half hiding behind her, half walking alongside her as she followed Aelfric out of the room and back into the passageways of Abyss. Edelgard and Constance took up the rear, talking quietly to each other; Byleth had the uncomfortable sense that they were bouncing theories off of each other.

“You knew my mother,” She started awkwardly. She'd meant to ask a question, but she was half inside her own head, those images from her dreams dancing before her eyes.

“That's right. While I lived in the monastery, she was a good friend of mine, and a constant companion. If there's anything you wish to know specifically, ask and I'll answer as best I can.”

“...What was she like?” The question almost sounded plaintive when she asked it, but that couldn't be right – could it?

“Kind. And wise...though she could be playful and mischievous as well when the mood stuck her.” She could hear the smile, and the wistfulness, in Aelfric's voice without looking at him. “I would often see her in the library, her nose buried in a book or an old family tree. She loved history and would constantly badger Jeralt for the many stories he knew, seemingly off the top of his head. When she wasn't reading or rediscovering old manuscripts, she was in the greenhouse, tending to the plants. She adored flowers, Sitri did, so much so that you could offer her one in recompense for some wrong against her and she would almost always forgive you for it.” He sighed. “She was so lively and eager to know about the world, I always thought it a shame that she never left the monastery.”

“Never?” Byleth asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Unfortunately, Sitri was weak of health for much of her life. Garreg Mach was the safest place for her to stay.”

“...” Byleth wrapped an arm around her waist, biting her lip. _Weak of health...so weak that giving birth killed her...?_

_Stop that right now, _Sothis said firmly. _Even if that was how she died, you did not 'kill' her. _

“You look a lot like her,” Aelfric said, bringing her back to the present. “You have her eyes and a similar face. Though the color of your hair must come from Jeralt.”

“You're not sure?” She asked curiously.

“Ah, Jeralt had gray hair even back when I knew him. He said it lost its color prematurely.” Aelfric shrugged. “Jeralt back then was much as he is now – blunt, somewhat taciturn, prone to dry wit and little patience for fools. But he's a gentle man when he allows himself to be, and he always had the time to help young fools like me figure out how to make our way in the world. I think that's what Sitri so loved about him.”

“I see...”

“She did not much love his drinking habits, though.” Aelfric said unexpectedly. Hilda made an odd choking sound and Bernadetta stared wide-eyed at the man. Aelfric just chuckled. “Oh, don't doubt it. Sitri would rant time and again that he spent too much money on it and got into far too many bar brawls. Mind you, the first few times she discreetly paid off his unpaid tabs at the bars and tried to smooth ruffled fathers, but she quickly got annoyed by his obliviousness to her increasingly dramatic hints that he should lessen his intake. It probably didn't help that Jeralt found amusement in how worked up she got about it; it got to the point where he would return from a mission and she would greet him something like this – 'You're back, and mostly unscathed. Does that mean you avoided getting into debt with another tavern?'”

“S-Seriously?” Hilda sounded like she was trying fairly hard to keep from laughing. Bernie hadn't quite managed, giggling into her hands while avoiding eye contact with Byleth.

“So he was like that back then, too...” Byleth said, feeling her lip twitch upward. She tried to imagine her mother flailing in frustration. She tried to imagine her face in a mix of aggravation and resignation. “What would he say?”

“He would laugh,” Aelfric recalled, grinning back at her. “Sitri would put her hands on her hips and threaten to withhold the deserts until he swore that he would pay the tabs off, he would promise, write up a ledger, and promptly forget about it.”

“That sounds about right,” Byleth deadpanned. “We – Jeralt's Mercenaries – have had to leave some towns ahead of schedule because Father had run up a tab that we couldn't quite afford to deal with on top of our other expenses.”

“That's right, you've been traveling with them all your life, haven't you?” Aelfric's tone changed a bit. “I'm aware I might be overstepping a bit, Professor, but have you wanted to return to your wandering ways rather than stay here at the monastery?”

“I like my work here,” Byleth responded, immediately and confidently.

Aelfric smiled back and chuckled a little. “I see! I'll do everything in my power to aide you while you are here.”

That gave her an odd sense of comfort. _Sometimes I do wonder if these emotions that are returning stronger and stronger are the boon they so often feel. There has to be a catch to something that feels wonderful, isn't there?_

They turned the corner and Byleth almost ran directly into Yuri. “Ah, there you are,” He said in relief, catching her with an arm around the waist and a wink directed at Bernadetta. He retreated a bit; the way his eyes lingered on her made Byleth feel hot within her skin. _I – I've felt this before. When? Why? W-what am I to do with it? _“I was just coming to see how you were doing. All better?”

“Yes,” She responded. “We were just about to start looking for you and the others. We should have a meeting to discuss what we know now.”

“Too true,” Yuri said lazily, though his eyes sharpened in a familiar manner. “I'll go and do my best to pry Claude and Linhardt out of the library...it may take me a while. Shall I rely on you to fetch the others?”

“Sure.”

* * *

“Pray tell, Yuri, did any of those foul bandits that we captured confess to anything?” Constance demanded, primly placing her knife and fork on the plate so as to indicate she had finished with her meal. It was very noble; Byleth wondered why she clung so tightly to those mannerisms while Yuri – the adoptive son of a Count, according to Ashe – and Balthus, who was of minor nobility, were much looser and more casual. (though still polite, it should be said.)

“Not a word,” Yuri said shortly before taking another swing of his drink. They had pulled several tables together in the restaurant a bit further away from the rest of the Abyssians to have this conversation. (_What started Byleth was how friendly the people were when they spotted the Academy students now. The barely restrained unease and hostility had melted into a friendly acceptance shown in waves and offers to get extra chairs for them. It was surreal, for her._) “And they won't name names, either. I got the sense that they didn't know much themselves.”

“That can happen,” Byleth said, her stomach souring when she remembered that one time she and her father had been hired to 'retrieve a runaway bride', succeed in doing so, only to discover midway through the ceremony that said bride had been violently kidnapped from her home and was being wedded against her will. They'd had to fight their way out of the ceremony with her in tow once they raised their objects. (And narrowly missed drinking poisoned 'congratulatory wine' because the lord hadn't wanted to pay them either way...)

Judging by the way Jeralt was scowling, he remembered that incident and plenty of others. “Whoever is behind this has access to a lot of gold or is making a lot of lofty promises to get so many mercenaries down here on such a constant basis. It means whoever's in charge is either a lord, a merchant with connections, or a corrupt clergy.”

“That's what I was thinking,” Claude said thoughtfully. “Unfortunately that leaves plenty of suspects and not much else go on.”

“However, one thing _is _clear,” Yuri responded, putting his fork down. “Whoever hired them is after something here in Abyss.”

“Yeah. That's gotta be it,” Balthus said between bites, causing Constance to glare at him. He swallowed and then added, “I heard one of them asking about Treasure back in that last brawl.”

“As did I,” Dimitri agreed, poking at his food and looking deep in thought.

“A treasure hunt? I don't get it,” Hapi said flatly. Granted, that was close to being her default tone of voice, but it was particularly pronounced in that moment. “What's there to find in these dingy tunnels?”

“Is something coming to mind, Bishop Aelfric?” Linhardt asked politely.

Aelfric shook his head. “Well, something does, but the notion is preposterous at best.”

Yuri seemed to tense up at that. It wasn't too visible, and she doubted that the others noticed it, but she saw his knuckles whiten a bit on his wine glass. Byleth blinked at him before her attention was drawn to Claude, who was chuckling.

“Never count out your wild hunches,” The brunette told him. “Sometimes they're closer to the truth than you would think.”

“At this point, any lead is better than nothing,” Dimitri added. “It may at least help us determine our next course of action, as opposed to continuing to talk ourselves in circles. Please go on.”

“As you wish...though again, it is quite far-fetched.” Aelfric closed his eyes for a moment before going on. “You see, there is a longstanding legend here. It is said that deep underground, below even Abyss, is a place called the Chasm of the Bound wherein lies the Chalice of Beginnings.” The Bishop clasped his hands together. “I once happened upon an old document that mentioned a ritual called the Rite of Rising. The text was incomplete, so I was unable to achieve a full understanding of the topic. I cannot even guarantee it's authenticity. But it is stated that the Chalice of Beginnings is a sacred object crafted by the order of Saint Serios herself.”

Claude whistled. Jeralt seemed to sit up straighter, and all of the students leaned in a bit in varying states of curiosity.

“Saint Serios apparently used the chalice to carry out the Rite of Rising, with the help of the Four Apostles.”

“What is the Rite of Rising?” Byleth asked.

Aelfric looked back at her with serious eyes. “It is a ritual that is believed to have the power to raise a person from the dead.”

There was a loud _bang_; Dimitri dropped his mug, spilling ale on the table and causing the ceramic glass to fall to the floor and crack. “A-Ah! I'm so sorry,” The prince stammered, quickly disappearing under the table to retrieve it. He brought it up and placed it gently on the table, abashed. “T-that was an accident...” Byleth felt worry ratchet up in her chest at how dramatically pale Dimitri's face had suddenly become. “D-Did it say if the ritual...succeeded?”

Aelfric shook his head. “According to the text, the ritual failed. The people blamed the Apostles, saying that they had deliberately held back and prevented the conditions of the rite from being met. They bound the Chalice to keep it away from greedy hands, and then disappeared from all of known Fodlan.”

“The Rite of Rising...” Claude hummed, though Byleth could see the way his 'wandering' gaze lingered on Dimitri, who was currently reassuring a worried Ashe that he was alright.

“Ah yes, the chalice of legend! My father mentioned it to me a very long time ago,” Constance said, clapping excitedly. “A secret treasure of the church...a chalice with the power to resurrect the dead... Exhilarating, is it not?!”

“No wonder people are looking for it...” Bernadetta looked down at her hands, lost in thought. “I mean...if you could find it, you could save someone that you lost...right...? That would be worth more than all the gold in the world.” Yuri frowned in her direction; he opened his mouth to say something when Bernie's head snapped up again and she asked, a hopeful tone in her voice that Byleth was a little worried by, “D-Do you think the chalice really exists? That it's really here?”

“If it is, we still don't have much to go on,” Edelgard said very practically. “We must gather more information about this legend at once.”

“I wholeheartedly agree,” Aelfric said before quickly finishing off his drink. “I will do all that I can to track down more clues within the monastery.” He sighed. “Although Garreg Mach's library is so...well curated, I doubt any further records will be found.”

“Wondrous! We shall see what we can do as well,” Constance declared, leaping out of her chair and causing it to fall on the floor. A couple of other patrons stared weirdly at them before returning to their own meals.

With that decided, everyone split up to go searching. Byleth hovered for a moment, her eyes flickering between Dimitri and Bernadetta, the latter of whom was already rushing off, either overwhelmed by the noise or determined to get a head start on information hunting. _I'll find her next, _she decided before turning to follow Dimitri, who was taking his damaged mug up to the counter.

She reached him when he offered a few gold as payment for the damage and gently tapped his arm. He spun around, still keyed up, and only relaxed a few seconds after realizing that it was her. “Oh, professor...you startled me.”

“I'm sorry.” She said before sliding her hand down to clasp his. “Can I borrow you for a moment? You look terribly pale.”

“I-” For a moment, it looked like he was going to pull free and flee from her – that she would have to chase him all over Abyss and then sit on him to find out what was wrong. Perhaps he read that in her eyes, however, because his shoulders sagged and he managed, “There...well...not in here, please.”

Byleth nodded, leading him out of the restaurant and across the hallway until they were standing at the mini bridge over Abyss's river. It was unoccupied, and there anyone who might have overheard them was busying working in the market. Not to mention the noise of the market itself would go a ways to prevent any eavesdropping.

Dimitri leaned against the wall...and then seemed to just shrink, slinking down until he was sitting at the very edge of the bridge, looking out and down at the rushing water. Byleth crouched next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dimitri?” She prompted gently.

“...Professor...” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the clip holding it back behind his head. “...Do you believe that the goddess would permit something like the Chalice to exist? Empower it, allow it to...to cheat death?”

“I don't know what I believe. Not yet.” Byleth sat and then leaned against him, trying to transmit some sense of immediate companionship, support. “But all the stories I've heard about cheating death across Almyra and Brigid and up in Sreng all have one commonality – there are conditions demanded by such a thing. A price so high that only those enslaved by their grief would be willing to pay.”

“...There would be a price, wouldn't there...” Dimitri closed his eyes, letting his head _thump _against the wall.

Byleth saw a flicker of gold in the corner of her vision. She tilted her head a bit and saw Claude peaking out from around the corner, obviously listening. She would have shooed him away, but the two were good friends, and she didn't want to pull Dimitri from his thoughts just yet...

“...So many nights, I have the same nightmare.” Dimitri didn't open his eyes. “I'm surrounded by fire, by screaming. Glenn is dragging me along by the arm, protecting me despite the three arrows sticking out of his back. Knights I had known since childhood are being cut down all around me, butchered like hens in a slaughterhouse. When I look back, I can see my father, the strongest man I ever knew, stabbed in the back and then decapitated. They held up his head like a trophy and then cast it away.”

Byleth swallowed hard and clasped his hand in hers. “Glenn saved my life by forcing me to move, run when all I wanted to do was collapse in despair. I was less than useless, not having a sword...and I don't think I could have used it well even if I held it. He forced his way through the encirclement even as they stabbed him, shoved me into Gustav's arms. Then he turned around, held up his sword, and vanished into the flames. When I woke up in camp days later, my throat still stinging from breathing in smoke...almost everyone I knew and loved was dead.”

Dimitri turned and looked at her. Byleth felt sick at what she saw; at that terrible grief mixed with an even more terrifying flicker of hope. “I almost want it to be a lie,” he whispered hoarsely, squeezing her hand in return like he was drowning and she was his only lifeline. “I almost want it to not exist. Because if it does...if I can hold in my hand a way to return all those people who died when I survived...Professor, I don't trust myself. I don't know what I'd do to take it, to keep it...or to use it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aelfric: So I read about this goddess-forged artifact that can raise the goddamned dead  
Dimitri: (completely deadpan) That's awfully interesting.
> 
> Game. Game. Why in the world does Dimitri, a boy who's so deep in grief that he frequently hallucinates that the ghosts of his loves ones are speaking to him, have a complete non-reaction to discovering that there might be an artifact that can bring said people back from the dead? Why doesn't he freak out just a little bit? There is nothing in that initial conversation that hints at the stipulations involved. 
> 
> Also, if there's one thing about Yuri and Bernadetta's C support that I don't quite like, it's that it kind of plays her belief that he died for comedy when it's clearly a very traumatic thing for her. Here, Yuri now has a...somewhat compelling reason to tell Bernie 'hey calm down a bit, I'm standing right here...' 
> 
> So next map...golems. Lots and Lots of golems. Uuuugh. In other words, Dimitri is the POV character for my least favorite chapter in Cindered Shadows.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri hunts for clues, fights giant dolls, and comes to a startling realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note ahead of time; I wrote about 12,000 words for this chapter before my computer suddenly glitched out and crashed. When I rebooted it, the data file for this story had been corrupted beyond repair. I did my best to reconstruct the scenes I had first written out, but I doubt I entirely succeeded. So if this chapter is clunky in places, I'm sorry; I've done my best under very poor morale after that loss, and I hope that it's at least serviceable.

_Where are you? Where are you, Dimitri? You promised us, you promised to save us you promised to avenge us you promise to restore us-_

“-have you know that my Ivory is a perfect sweetheart as long as you don't forget breakfast or sleep in too late.” Claude's voice rose above the chatter of the ghosts – not quite piercing through it, but clear enough to focus on – to grasp like a lifeline.

Dimitri smiled wanly as chuckles raced throughout the group. Claude's love of storytelling was a blessing; it was a look into a world he knew so little about and a distraction from the thronging mob of ghosts that was dogging his every step.

Father and Glenn weren't the only ghosts he saw; they were his most constant companions, but there were many others. His father's inner guard lingered, many still bearing the mortal wounds from when they'd been cut down as the fires burst out in every direction. His stepmother wandered in and out, sometimes singing to him, others coldly ignoring him despite his pleas. And then there were the faces he didn't recognize; the Duscur men who died trying to protect him or were slaughtered in the aftermath, that man he killed in the first uprising... Dimitri was rarely alone with his thoughts.

“Ivory?” Jeralt asked, bemused.

“Yup,” Claude clicked his tongue. “A pretty name for a pretty girl. That's a bit of a story, actually...”

Byleth smiled when she heard this. She was walking inbetween Claude and himself, frequently looking at him and taking his hand in her concern. Part of him wished that she didn't see so much; the other was almost pathetically grateful that he wasn't being left alone with his thoughts and the ghosts. “Have you heard this story already, Professor?” Bernadetta asked quietly, clinging to the blue-haired girl's arm as she was wont to.

Byleth nodded slightly. Dimitri's lip quirked upward.

_It's tradition, actually, _the archer's voice echoed in his mind. _Everyone who intends to master a weapon has to court a wyvern. Any idiot can swing a weapon; it takes more than that to keep your family safe, to turn former enemies into allies, to make your victories long lasting instead of fleeting. Wyverns are supposedly one of Asch's final creations; if one won't accept you, you aren't fit to be a warrior. _

He hadn't had the opportunity to ask Claude very much about his other homeland. Between their mutual busy schedules and the latter's concern about being inadvertently overheard, his growing curiosity about the so called 'eastern menace' had tickled the back of his mind more often than not. The things that the brunette did find the chance to let slip, meanwhile, were fascinating. Asch; god of war, ruin and upheaval played a frequent role in those stories.

...Asch, the dead war god, slain by his human children after he succumbed to madness spawned from the slaughter of undefended villages all across the lands.

“...think it used to be a badger's den.” Claude said, shrugging. “She must have tried to make it bigger to suit her, because she'd ended up tangled in a series of briers that had been hanging over the entrance. Baby wyverns are pretty big, but their wings are delicate – not as much as a young pegasus, but not far off from that. Even plant thorns, which they can usually ignore no problem, are dangerous to budding wings.”

“Hannah said something like that once.” Jeralt mused. “You know your way around animals, Riegan.”

Claude smiled smugly at the gruff praise before continuing, “she'd tried to pull herself free, I could see by the way the dirt in front of the burrow was all churned up, but she'd only managed to pull the briers tighter around her wings. So there I was, armed with a rabbit and two arrows just a couple of feet away from a very hungry, very aggravated baby wyvern with injured wings. However!” He raised a hand. “I was armed with a rabbit and two arrows.”

“I see you still have both your hands,” Hapi remarked, eyeing him. “How did _that _happen?”

“Christophe always told me to _never _approach wounded animals,” Ashe added in shock. “They're much more aggressive when they're in danger.”

“True,” Claude said with a shrug. “I just had to convince her I wasn't a threat. So I slipped forward, step by step, stopping whenever she snarled at me. Eventually she let me sit a few feet away with nothing more than a warning growl, and I put the rabbit down right where should reach it. After she realized I wasn't going to snatch it away from her, she tucked in and I could reach her wings.”

He sighed ruefully and rubbed the middle of his right palm. “It would have been easier if I'd had a hunter's knife. The arrowhead cut well enough when I twisted it the right way, but I had to be careful to not to pull on her wing and I couldn't cut as many strands at once as I might have otherwise. She went very stiff at first; she decided to trust me when she saw me tug one of the briers free, but she nipped at my heel whenever I pulled too hard.”

“The fact that you can say that with a smile is a little off putting.” Balthus deadpanned, his eyebrows shooting up. “I've been bitten by a wyvern before; he tore out a good chunk of my leg!”

Claude shrugged lightly, his lip curving slightly. “It took several minutes to free her right wing; my hands were scraped and bloody due to my lack of gloves. She nudged my leg, then raised her head up to look me to in the eye."

“Wyverns pick their riders, just like a pegasus. The bond they formed with their riders is lifelong.” Byleth offered softly. “In the scriptures it's said that the goddess created the wyverns and pegasus at the same time as equals and opposites.”

“Well I don't know about that,” Claude said with a light shrug. “But she did decide then that she trusted me. She lay down as flat as she could so I could reach over her and start cutting her other wing free. My hands were filing repeated complaints by the time I cut the last brier; barbs were digging into my skin until it hurt to put any pressure on them. For her, her wings were bloody with scratches and grooves but there weren't any holes in them – which was good, otherwise she likely would've been crippled. She shook her wings a bit, stretched her arms, and crawled free of the den. Care to guess what she did immediately upon realizing she was free?”

“Try and fly away?” Ashe offered hesitantly.

“She bit you?” Edelgard snarked.

Claude shook his head, a soft smile coming to his lips; a sweet warmth took hold in Dimitri's chest and he rapidly shook his head. “Nope. She stuck her head in my game bag.” He shook his head. “I had three squirrels and two ducks before I found her; after she was done, I had a duck and half a squirrel – and I had to negotiate for those.”

Yuri snickered. “You probably should have seen that coming,” the violet-eyed teen teased.

“She must have been trapped there for a while,” Hapi murmured sympathetically. “No wonder she was so hungry.”

“Yeah, well after she'd finished helping herself to the fruits of my afternoon, she turned back to me and nosed my quiver...then my hands. After sniffing me for a second, she began to gently lick my scratched-up palms.” Claude winked a very curious-looking Bernadetta. “You see, when wyverns get injured debris can get stuck between their scales. So they lick their wounds clean and pull twigs, arrowheads and the like out with their teeth. Now wyvern saliva stings like the burning flames, but she cleaned my scratches clean of barbs and dirt.”

_Remember when Ingrid had been working for too long, and her mother's pegasus headbutted her into a pool?, _Glenn said nostalgically. _Finally got her to wash her hair, after... _he trailed off and sighed.

Dimitri closed his eyes for a moment. _I remember. _

“She followed me as I took the trail back to the starting point.” Claude said. “Mom was not impressed that dad had managed to misplace me during the hunt; he didn't exactly help his case 'since he saw Ivory before she did, and he laughed when she chirped and scared mom out of her skin.”

“Sounds like _someone _spend that evening on the couch,” Ashe said with a _surprising _level of dryness. Lambert laughed heartily at that; despite that, he was almost drowned out by Constance's very unladylike fit of uncontrollable cackling. Byleth slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking a bit with repressed amusement; her sapphire blue eyes glittered warmly. Dimitri could feel his eyes lingering on her and pulled his gaze away.

“Did keeping Ivory require some negotiations after that unfortunate first impression?” Edelgard asked lightly.

“Oi, my mom is fierce, not heartless. She took one look at the sad, abandoned albino wyvern and fell in love with her immediately. We spirited my new partner off to the s-healers to get her fixed up, and Ivory has been my friend and responsibility ever since.” Claude looked thoughtful. “Besides, Ivory was bonded to me at that point. It would have been cruel to make her leave.”

“She isn't with you now...” Dimitri noted, concerned.

“Yeah, and she didn't like that in the slightest, I assure you.” Claude blew out a breath, knocking his braid back against his ear before swinging down to the edge of his chin and the top of his elegant throat. “She's almost all grown up now, and our bond is strong. She'll manage until I ask for her. Mom's looking after her right now.”

“That's good.” Bernadetta peeked up at him. “W-will we get to see her at some point?”

“Wouldn't that be nice?” The brunette said wistfully. “Maybe once I've passed the official wyvern rider test. I'd have to send my mother a nice present...”

“Heads up,” Yuri said lightly, gesturing forward. The group paused as a unit; they had reached a corner in the passageway they'd been making their way through for the past twenty or so minutes, around which was a set of double doors held shut by a rusted lock.

“I sure hope this is a good sign,” Hilda groaned, leaning heavily against Balthus's arm. Ashe trotted forward alongside Yuri, talking to the other boy in a low voice as he twisted the lock up, examining it. “My feet hurt.”

“C'mon, Hilda! You can't be worn out already; this is just a healthy walk!”

“For _you_, maybe! We can't all be a big, strapping, hunky menlike you! We have delicate flowers here, Balthus! Take us into consideration!”

Yuri burst into a fit of laughter, “Please tell me you aren't including Constance is that...”

“Excuse me?! Are you implying I am not noble enough to possess the soft beauty of a flower? How dare you, Yuri, you scoundrel!”

Stories, jokes and mutual teasing had quickly proven to be the only distraction from the sheer dull monotony of their search for the Chalice. Constance had been quick to insist they search, despite Aelfric's advice; Captain Jeralt had been less than enthusiastic. He said that an artifact of such desirable power was better left hidden away lest word get out and bloody struggles erupt over possession of it. Thankfully, Byleth had helped him argue their case, noting that the Abyss would not know peace unless and until they retrieved the artifact and were able to capture the one responsible for sending so many mercenaries after it. Eventually the knight had given in, though not without sending a message to Sir Alois about their plans.

Dimitri couldn't help but wonder how far the tunnels beneath Abyss and Garreg Mach could possibly go, because they had been walking for quite some time with no end to any of the pathways in sight. Considering that Abyss was already quite a ways beneath the monastery itself...well, it left him a little uncertain and uneasy. The occasional dust drifting down from the ceiling didn't help his nerves in that regard. The shadows danced around the group beneath the light from the two torches held by Yuri and Jeralt, painting macabre images on the stone walls and floor.

_Do you remember the way back?, _his stepmother murmured in his ear. _The way back to the sky? Don't get lost down here, little prince. Promise me._

_I'm not lost...not yet, _he thought back ruefully.

The lack of sunlight was starting to grate on Dimitri. He'd thought he would manage, given that the sun was often hidden in the Faerghus winter due to thick snowstorms and overcast skies. However after three days deep within the earth, without even a flicker of sunlight filtering to the below...it was beginning to induce an intense feeling of claustrophobia. The lack of wind was also distracting in its absence once you began to notice it. It was as if the weight of the world was completely above them now; _is there no deeper pit than this, beneath the floors of Garreg Mach? _

“Dimitri? Are you alright?”

He blinked at Byleth's voice, turning toward her. Her concerned gaze was warm and soothing, her hand resting gently against his wrist. “Oh...I'm sorry, Professor.” He said quietly. “I got lost inside my own head. ...I miss the sky.”

Claude let out a sympathetic huff. “Me too,” he groaned. “Call me a sky worshiper if you want, but I can't imagine surviving long without feeling sunlight on my skin. I would probably go mad if I had to live down here permanently.”

“R-Really? I kinda like it down here,” Bernadetta said thoughtfully. “I miss the sun too, but Abyss is snug and comfortable and safe – or, mostly safe, anyway. Plenty of places to hide away and never be found!”

“Aw, but we'd miss you if we lost you and couldn't find you.” Claude said, ruffling her hair. Bernadetta squeaked before smiling shyly up at him. “Isn't that right, Teach?”

“Of course.”

Bernadetta blushed and tried to hide behind Byleth. “Why are you guys...so nice to me...” She mumbled, so quietly that Dimitri almost missed it. “I don't deserve it...” Byleth must have heard it too, because she reached back and gently grasped the shorter girl's wrist. Yuri momentarily stopped walking, falling in step with the professor and the meek purple-haired girl. He raised his hand a bit, hesitated, then reached out and patted the top of her head. The gesture made the girl squeak and look up at him, startled, with memories flickered through her dark eyes.

The passageway took another turn. Dimitri tried to listen to Constance, Claude and Linhardt discuss the letters and maps they had poured over to find the place where the Chalice was kept, but it was difficult with the low drone that filled the back of his mind.

_Help us save us pay your debt to us_

_Help us your highness you promised to help us_

_You let us die _

_You let us die!_

_Promise me Dimitri-_

A small hand stole into his, squeezing gently; soft fingers largely free of callouses. Dimitri blinked, shuttering the voices aside, and looked to his side; Bernadetta peeked out from behind Byleth's shoulder, giving him a timid but sympathetic look. He stared back in surprise for a long moment, before smiling gratefully for this new surprise anchor to the living world. _Thank you, _he thought but couldn't quite bring himself to say.

The twisting passageway eventually lead them into a chamber big enough to have possibly been a conference room at some point. There was a passageway on the far end of the room from where they'd entered, and – rather inexplicably – there were three lit torches hanging from the wall. The group spread out when they all filed in, looking around for some sort of clue if this was some sort of sign and to leave a marker to track their progress.

“Feeling pretty lost right now,” Linhardt sighed tiredly, leaning against the wall. “How long have we been walking? It's got to be about a week now.”

“A week? You're kidding, right? It's been a few hours at most,” Hapi objected with an incredulous look.

“I can believe it,” Hilda groaned before dramatically slumping down to the ground, resting her elbows on her knees. “How much further down can this place possibly go?”

“Exaggerations aside...” Edelgard deadpanned, shaking her head. “If this takes much longer, I'm concerned about us running out of food and water.”

“We aren't in danger of running low yet,” Jeralt said easily. “Don't worry.”

“Meaning we can make it back if we have to.” Claude said before sighing, “she's got a point, though. How about we trek a bit further, and if we don't find anything, we turn back and try again tomorrow?” He frowned. “It would be a pity to turn back without turning anything up, but we don't want to go out on a limb.”

Dimitri turned towards Constance, who was practically vibrating in her shoes and looked like she was about to explode at his fellow house leaders for even suggesting that. “Constance,” he said hesitantly, deciding to distract her. “I find it rather curious how quickly you became fixated on the Chalice. Care to elaborate?” _Do you need it the same way I do? _

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I...no! Why in the world would I be fixated on a dusty old legend for some clandestine ulterior motive? Y-you shouldn't ask personal questions, your highness! 'Tis rude!”

“She wants the esteem,” Yuri cut in shamelessly, completely immune to the resultant death glare the admission earned him. “You think this will convince the church to help you restore your fallen house.”

“Ugh!” The blonde stomped her foot. “How could you possibly know that?! Have you been snooping within the confines of my very mind?”

The violet-eyed teen scoffed. “'I shall restore House Nuvelle to its former glory at all costs!'” he mimicked in a high pitched tone before chuckling. “Ha; it's practically your catchphrase.”

“I've been down here for three days, and I even I know that.” Claude joked. Constance scowled indigently at him, but Yuri winked at the brunette. A hot bolt of frustration rushed through Dimitri's chest. _Stop doing that! I...he... _He swallowed over a lump in his throat and averted his eyes.

“Aha!” Linhardt clapped his hands together and pushed off the wall, walking over to them. “Just as I suspected. Constance is the former lady of House Nuvelle.”

Byleth turned and frowned curiously at her father. “House Nuvelle? I haven't heard that name in a long time...You know of them them, Linhardt?”

“In a sense,” The green-haired boy said with a nod. “Until just a few years ago, it was a house of viscounts in the west of the Empire.”

“House Nuvelle lost its status five years ago, as a result of their part in the war.” Edelgard said simply.

“Huh,” Constance snorted, clenching her fist. “You speak as though it had nothing to do with you.”

Edelgard closed her eyes and retorted calmly, “I'm afraid all that I can do is ask forgiveness in the place of my useless father.”

Dimitri's heart sank. She had said something very similar to that when he had first met her all those years ago in the kingdom. After he had become her friend, she had alternated between weeping over the state her beloved father had been left in and raging over how powerless he had been to do anything to protect or help her. He'd been powerless to do anything but soothe her as best he could.

“Hey!” Balthus's voice echoed from behind them. The group turned around in a hurry, Hilda scrambling to her feet and staring at the open doorway that they had overlooked upon their first entrance. “Look at this, folks! It's a good thing we didn't turn back. This looks mighty chasm-like if you ask me!”

Byleth rushed into the tunnel; Dimitri heard a soft gasp escape her lips. She turned and quickly waved for the others to follow her. He rushed to join her; his eyes were immediately struck with the shimmering white rays of light spilling around Balthus's silhouette. The brawler laughed boisterously and surged into the light, showing the way into the chasm. Dimitri stepped out after Byleth, wincing as the light grew brighter and brighter until he could see nothing but white. He stumbled into a cool breeze, raising one hand to ward off the harsh glare as he waited for his vision to readjust. _We're...outside...? _

“Oh, glorious sunshine!” Claude cheered somewhere on his left. Dimitri tilted his head, allowing his eyes to slowly focus on the brunette stretching up towards the heavens with a smile of pure contentment on his face. “I will _never _take you for granted again...”

That warm, sweet feeling coiled in the prince's chest. _His real smile is even more charming than any of his masks... _

“The wind...” Bernadetta hummed, looking up at the sky. “It feels so gentle, doesn't it?”

“It's not just you,” Ashe piped in happily. “Oh, it's wonderful to see the sky again. I hadn't realized just how much I was missing it.”

“There is a certain beauty to it, isn't there?” Yuri said, walking up by the silver-haired archer's side. “Some things can't be captured in human hands, no matter how hard we try...I've always felt like the sky, day and night, is one of those things.”

Byleth said nothing. But she did smile, light and soft, even as she continued to blink the stars out of her eyes as she adjusted to the light. The sunlight caught in her hair, making her glow. Dimitri swallowed hard and looked up again, afraid of being caught staring at her. _What is happening to me... _His eyes caught into a dark shadow far up above him; he stared at it for a few minutes before he realized what it likely was.

“Say...” He said slowly, “are we beneath the bridge at the monastery? Incredible...”

“Huh,” Claude remarked with well-disguised awe. “I never thought I'd be gazing up at that bridge we've crossed a thousand times from way, way down here.” He put a hand on his hip. “D'you figure any of our classmates are walking across it right now, way above us?”

“Who knows...and no, that's not an invitation to start shouting and trying to get someone's attention,” Edelgard said dryly. Claude just gave her an innocent look in return.

“Could anyone crossing even see us at this distance?” Ashe wondered. “I'm not sure anyone looking down would see anything but a bunch of moving dots.”

“All this aside...are we sure this is the right place?” Yuri asked, looking back and forth.

“It is. I believe. I think...I hope?” Constance said, her voice both oddly distant and even more oddly subdued. Dimitri looked around for a moment before he found the young heir to Nuvelle hovering in the shade of an old willow tree, shuffling her feet and tugging on a loose strand of her hair.

“Constance, why are you hiding over there?” Edelgard asked in puzzlement. “Aren't you the one who insisted most heatedly that we find the Chalice?”

Constance pumped her arms in barely-controlled frustration. “Fine! If you insist that I join you, I shall. Satisfied?” Then she stepped out into the sunlight.

The change came over her so quickly and so thoroughly that Dimitri could have blinked and missed it. Her straight back and squared shoulders slumped until she looked less like a lady and more like an abused servant; something he'd had the misfortune of seeing before. Her head was bowed, her trembling hands lowering and grasping the hem of her skirts. All the confidence that had so completely characterized her since the moment they met in that hallway was gone; it was as in the blink of an eye she had been kidnapped and replaced by a doll that perfectly resembled her.

“Oh my,” Constance said, her voice soft and weak. “I was quite rude just now... Please accept my humble apologies for treating you so foully.”

“Uh,” Claude started, audibly taken aback. “You're going to have to say a lot worse than that to 'treat us foully'. Are you okay?”

“You are too kind to me, sir.” She disagreed, her head sinking even further. “I presumed too much to stand beside such noble paragons. Allow me to dig a hole to bury myself in.”

“You'll do no such thing,” Byleth ordered, sounding a little shaken. She spun to face the other Ashen Wolves. “W-What just happened?”

Balthus sighed heavily. Dimitri knew by the look on his face that this was an old trouble before he began to speak. “Ugh...no matter how far down we go, I guess sunlight is still sunlight. Poor Constance.” He waved in her direction. “Really, it's okay. Don't worry about it, friend.”

“We don't know why it happens...but this is what sunlight does to Coco. That's why she lives underground.” Hapi explained. Her voice was even as ever, but her signature bluntness had softened significantly, and her eyes were sympathetic.

Constance seemed to wilt further at that; her body language was so heavy with doubt and despair that Dimitri was ill with sympathy. “I fear that I cannot guarantee that this is the Chasm of the Bound. I have almost certainly wasted out time.”

Bernadetta took a small step forward and hesitated, wincing and visibly warring with herself. Then she took a fortifying breath, let it out, and walked over to stand in front of Constance. “That's not true,” The purple-haired girl said reassuringly. “Linhardt and Claude were helping you study the maps, and we all agreed to come down and investigate. So if we turn up empty, it's everyone's fault, not just yours.”

“I was the one to propose the mission against Aelfric's wishes,” Constance protested.

“And we all agreed to go,” Bernadetta parried, taking the blonde's hand in her own. “Look, even if it's not here, that just means we know more about the area, and we can narrow the search down more when we get back to Abyss! Sure, it's super disappointing, but it's not nothing. Not at all..we still have time after today.”

Constance looked up at the other girl from beneath her bangs. “T-That is...”

“It'll be fine,” Bernadetta promised, tugging on her arm. “Come on, we'll investigate together. You'll see.”

“I...very well,” Constance submitted. She stood up a little bit straighter and followed in Bernadetta's wake as the archer brought her back to the group.

Dimitri caught Byleth's expression out of the corner of his eye; the young teacher was all but beaming, quickly spinning around so neither of the girls would notice.

* * *

“Y'know...for all the walking we did, I thought it would be much later in the day.” Claude commented with a glance upward. “But the sun's still shining bright...I guess we got up early.”

They'd wandered through the canyon for a couple minutes before coming upon a large, steep hill overlooking a large forested area. It was unnervingly quiet except for the wind in the trees; no birds singing, no animals jumping between tree branches, nothing. That alone was disturbing enough, but there was something in the air that Dimitri could feel, but couldn't put to words. He suspected he wasn't the only one feeling this, because the Ashen Wolves were tense as coiled springs and Captain Jeralt kept warily eyeing the scenery like he was searching for potential ambush sites. Byleth bit her lip and walked ahead of the group, nervously rapping her fingers against the hilt of the Creator's Sword.

“Being underground will screw with your internal clock,” Jeralt said calmly. “Especially with the pseudo-sun roofs being so few and far between. You'll readjust quickly.”

Claude nodded and blew out a long breath, sliding his bow off of his back. He'd been trying to keep up a sense of levity without success, and Dimitri tried to give him a reassuring smile. The brunette rolled his eyes in response, but there was affection in the curve of his soft lips that he might have missed before and treasured now.

“It has to be here,” Bernadetta said suddenly. “Isn't it? This place...it feels different from the monastery and Abyss.”

“Different how?” Hapi asked, raising an eyebrow. “It's just a forest.”

“No, Lady Varley is right.” Constance said, shaking her head. “I sense magic in the air. There is something within these woods. The binding spell, perhaps...”

“I don't feel anything at all,” Linhardt protested.

Dimitri started to say something, but it broke off into a gasp. His blood buzzed hotly, and then began to _burn; _he stumbled back and pressed a hand against his chest. “Gah!” His heart was pounding faster and faster as a familiar sensation lit up his mind more harshly than it ever had before. The prince started trembling and grasped the hilt of his lance. “W-what...is this?”

“Ack...” Claude had nearly doubled over, an arm braced against his stomach. The archer was gasping for breath – like he'd fallen from a tree and had all the air knocked out of his lungs. “I-I don't know, but...” He twisted his palm up; the golden moon of the Major Riegan Crest immediately flared to life, pulsing like an organ. “I-I've got a hunch...!”

“Ngh...” Hilda wrapped both her arms around her shoulders, slumping to her knees. “Is it j-just me...or is it getting...kind of hot...out here...?” She gritted, digging her nails into the fabric of her shirt.

“W-What are you talking about?!” Bernadetta blurted out, running up and looking frantically between her fellow students. “H-Hey, what's wrong? What's going on?!”

“S-Something is...” Edelgard couldn't even finish her sentence; she collapsed to the ground and went into a coughing fit that sounded like a malevolent hex was trying for force her to vomit up her lungs. Jeralt was by her side in an instant, lance in hand and prepared to defend her. “Nngh...! I can't...c-can't breathe...”

Byleth collapsed to her knees. “_?!” _She gasped, choking on a word that Dimitri wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Her hands went to her chest, clawing at the cloth and skin above her heart. Ashe hurried and knelt at her side, trying to get her attention. “_! ! !” _Liquid sounding syllables poured from her throat – raw and desperate. He wasn't learned enough to have a prayer of understanding, but it sounded like she was talking to someone-

The ground shook beneath their feet.

“Well,” Linhardt said dully. “I can't feel anything, but I can _hear _something. Something big..and it's coming this way.”

“Damn it!” Jeralt swore. He picked Edelgard up and slung her over shoulder, grunting when the ax strapped to her side hit against his back. “If you can stand, stand. Anyone who is standing, help those who can't!”

Dimitri planted the flat end of his lance on the ground and forced himself to straighten up. The sizzling feeling in his blood didn't abate, but the movement helped him find his center of footing. He spun his lance over in his hand and stared into the treeline where the shaking was originating from.

It didn't keep them waiting. With an earsplitting crash, two old and wide trees were pushed aside and snapped at the base by massive iron figure. Though by all logic something that big shouldn't be able to move on its own, move it did, rolling toward the steep hill where they all stood.

It was...hard to describe. It was as if someone had tried to craft a doll to be lifelike to an extent, but the features that were easily recognizable only made it more off-putting to look at. It had arms, yes, but they were long and spindly like spider's legs, moving jerkily like the gummed up parts of an old marionette. The mask upon its 'head' was fully recognizable as human, but completely featureless – no hints of emotion or life could be perceived except for light that glowed from behind the eyes; flickering flames. It didn't have legs, only a massive metal 'skirt' – that was the best word he had for the triangular metal sheets that stretched down to the ground from the slender 'midsection', where the hips and chest would have been on a human. Surrounding it was a golden aura that surrounded the entire creation like a second skin, glittering like a second skin.

“**THIEVES! BETRAYERS, GRAVE ROBBERS!**” A voice devoid of gender and age roared like thunder, shaking the ground, the trees and the cliffs. “**BEGONE FROM THIS SACRED PLACE OR BE DESTROYED!” **

“I think we've found the Chalice's defenses,” Yuri said darkly, rocking back on his heels and drawing his sword. He and the other Ashen Wolves took point, seemingly unaffected by whatever had slammed into the others. “Damn, what is this thing? It looks like a toy, but I doubt it's as fragile as one!”

“Eh, it could be worse. 'Sides, it's been a while since I've had a fight that _really _made me work for it.” Balthus said with a shrug. Then he waved one gauntlet toward the creation and yelled, “Hey you! Meet your master, pal! I'm gonna pummel you into my own personal shield!”

The doll – the golem – raised up one hand, pointing all of its fingers at the group. In a crackle of magic, blinding white-red light drew into a hole in its palm.

“_I'm gonna haunt you if I die!_” Bernadetta shrieked at the taller man.

“Shit; scatter!” Byleth's warning came just a few seconds soon enough.

Dimitri jumped to the side right before the flare of light – the lance of light, so to speak; he saw it out of the corner of his eye – smashed into the ground. The impact shock wave threw him off of his feet; his back painfully struck a trunk when he landed in a bush. Branches and leaves slapped at his eyes as he fought to breathe through his burning throat. His lance had fallen from his hand; the horseslayer and steel lance dug into his back with an intensity that was almost certainly bruising.

_Get up, _Glenn said urgently, grasping his shoulder. _Get up, Dimitri, get up! GET UP! _

Dimitri groaned, fighting for air. He rolled onto one knee and looked up – just in time to see two figures in assassin cloaks, light flashing off of their blades, darting straight towards them. He scrambled to get up, bringing his lance to parry the first blow aside and duck beneath the second one. Swinging his momentum to bring himself fully back to his feet and standing straight, Dimitri parried another attack and swung around so the assassin was lead towards his partner. His vision blurred and pain sparked in his back with every dodge. They were _damned fast, _faster than anyone he'd trained with or fought recently, it was all he could do to keep parrying their swords away and stay alive.

Somewhere on his left there was a great flare of white light. Dimitri shot a quick look over his shoulder and cursed every star in the sky when _another _golem, almost identical to the first except for coloring or possibly being a head shorter, appear out of the ether in the bush on the far side of the hill; effectively blocking off the gentle slope down to the ground.

It didn't move right away, though. That was something.

_You're not allowed to die here! Get past them! Go to the chalice!_

Spitting out a wad of blood, Dimitri reached for the frenzying power of his crest and forced it through his lance. “Let's see you dodge this!” He thrust the weapon forward, smashing it straight through the sword aimed at his chest and burying it halfway through the chest of the first assassin, utterly impaling him.

Instead of sagging and loosing all signs of life, the corpse...burst into light and dust, glittering to the ground. Dimitri wasn't given so much as a second to be shocked or confused by this before the other assassin was on him, giving no sign they were troubled by or had even noticed their comrade fall. Dimitri grabbed the broken hilt of the sword he'd destroyed and slammed it into his enemy's shoulder. The blow staggered them, slowing their pace and allowing them to stab them through the shoulder and then through the eye. Just like the first one, the killing blow resulted in the figure evaporating into light with a _pop_, leaving only silver dust behind.

“Hang on!” Yuri's voice snapped behind him. Dimitri jumped when the violet-eyed teen appeared out of noting and grabbed his arm. “Hold your breath,” Was the only explanation and warning he got; Dimitri heard a crackle of magic and looked up to see the doll bearing down on them before being suddenly and violently yanked through a black void.

The sensation only lasted a couple of seconds, but even when they landed safely on the far side of the hill back in the real world, Dimitri's stomach still felt like it wanted to climb up his throat and file annulment proceedings against his inner ear. A semi-familiar orange glow softened as Yuri propped him up on his shoulder so he could stand.. “Thank you,” the prince managed after swallowing over the bile in his throat.

“Don't mention it,” Yuri responded distractedly before disappearing again.

A massively loud blast not far away quickly alerted Dimitri to the fact that there was _another _golem on this end of the hill as well. Jeralt was trying to bait it away from Edelgard, who was standing but clearly still shaky in the knees. Byleth lashed the Creator's Sword against the doll's torso area in a series of circular thrashes he'd only seen her use once before – against the sand snake. Over in the concealment of the trees, Claude and Bernadetta were shooting arrows upward, seemingly doing little to no damage but succeeding in drawing the golem's attention. Meanwhile, Balthus was in a tussle with a white-cloaked figure wielding an ax while Constance stood on a rock, throwing Fire and some kind of arrow magic that he couldn't remember the name of. Hapi was in the woods near Balthus along with Ashe, trying to provide cover fire where ever possible.

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder. _Dimitri, you can't die, _his stepmother whispered in his left ear. He flinched away from her, and narrowly missed taking an arrow through his eye socket. An archer had come up behind them, now aiming at Byleth's unprotected back.

_Don't you dare! _Forgetting that he had a normal lance, not a javelin, Dimitri lifted the weapon and threw his weapon forward. It didn't hit the chest, but the stomach instead, which caused his enemy to double over and then fall onto their hands and knees. A moment later, they burst into dust.

“Allow me to demonstrate!”

Byleth's shout caused him to spin around again. For a brief moment the Crest of Flames burned in the air; flames of golden orange light surrounding the blade as it whipped out and crashed into the 'skirt' of the golem. First there was a crackling sound like glass shattering as the golden aura flickered and broke apart, then the metallic scream of tearing metal as the sword punched into the golem's body. Massive cracks and molten, melting wounds criss-crossed the skirt in its entirety, and the creation screeched as its slow movement came to a complete stop.

Jeralt snapped his lance out to one side, a white glow surrounding him and his weapon. “I'll finish this,” He growled as an image that Dimitri had seen hundreds of times in history books and holy scriptures alike flickered in the air. Then he thrust the lance up at the torso area; the weapon extended itself with a blade of light. The impact hit for four times the damage it would have done without it; a gaping hole was visible where it had been pierced for a couple of seconds before – with the tortured scream of metal so all-encompassing Dimitri clapped his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block it out – the creation crumbled; breaking into multiple parts as it crashed to the ground.

_T-That...that was the Crest of Serios. The _Major _Crest of Serios! How is that possible?! _Dimitri stared at the professor's father as he drew a sword and headed towards Balthus.

The Royal Family of Adrestia had gone to great pains to ensure that the saint's sacred blood remained with them alone. Daughters marriages carefully thought through and controlled, suitors within the Empire generally given preference to those outside of it, bastard children brought into the royal palace and raised next to their true born siblings (_or disappeared, when darker-minded Emperors were on the throne_). How could Jeralt, by all accounts a Faerghus soldier of humble origins, bear the blood of the empire and the saint? And why hadn't Byleth inherited at least the minor variant from him? Had inheriting the Crest of Flames had influenced that?

Judging by the stunned look on Edelgard's face, she had about as many questions as him.

Another creaking sound, however, reminded him that this was no time for contemplation. Dimitri turned around and saw the golem that had almost killed him now much closer than when he'd last look. “I really hope there aren't a lot more of these things,” Claude informed him, trotting to an easy stop next to him. He was dirty and sporting a few burn scars, but otherwise completely unharmed. “'Least that one's staying put.” He pointed an arrow over at the first golem, patrolling back and forth at the base of the hill.

“I'm not sure that's a good thing,” Dimitri said sourly, dropping his cracked and bent lance on the ground. “Do you have any ideas, my friend?”

“They don't seem to like our Crests,” Claude told him, chuckling darkly. “It's a bit of a work in progress, I know.”

“It's a start,” Dimitri responded calmly, drawing his steel lance. “Try and confuse it – and be careful.”

“H-Hey!” Bernadetta protested as she caught up with her classmate. “That's not a plan, that's a hope and a prayer! Oh, why did I agree to go down into the tunnels, why didn't I just stay in bed, whhhhy?”

“Don't panic, Bernie,” Claude responded while he strung up an arrow and tensed up. The golem jerkily raised one hand in preparation to attack. “When we get back to the monastery proper, you can have as much peach sorbet as you want – promise.”

“Oh, yay. EEEEK!” The three of them dodged away from the blast; Dimitri to the left, Claude and Bernadetta to the right. Fortunately the impact didn't knock any of them off their feet; the brunette pivoted on one foot and launched two arrows at the thin 'neck' area – not doing serious damage, but it clearly did something to make the golem's head creak and twist in his direction.

Dimitri let out one breath and let the still-frantic bubbling energy of his Crest flow forth. Running forward, he crashed one hand into the metal of the skirt; it bent under his fingertips into a handhold allowing him to hoist himself up far enough to slam his lance into the torso area. A satisfying snarl of the metal, clay and golden aura cracking and breaking around the wound his weapon carved into its midsection. Wrenching the weapons free, he let himself fall back to the ground, dropping the lance and rolling over his shoulder. As he righted himself and grabbed his lance, he saw Bernadetta take a stance as her silver-gray crest flickered in again.

“Why is this happening?!” She cried somewhere between hysteria and frustration before unleashing her arrow and its ghostly counterparts. Dimitri was both surprised and emboldened to see this do some tangible damage to the neck area Claude had taken shots at.

_Maybe Crests are all that we need, _he thought hopefully.

The golem swayed a bit; then both of its arms jerked straight upward. Dimitri froze as the fragmented golden aura suddenly turned a shade of bloody red. The ground beneath their feet rumbled violently and the magic in the air was so thick that even he could feel it.

A massive crash of lightning – or in this case, Bolting – slammed into the golem. “My companions, get back! It is attempting a new attack!” Constance yelled, still perched upon the rock she had been on before.

_Move! _His father shouted.

Dimitri spared one second to try and see where Claude was; a flicker of gold moving past him caused him a bolt of relief and he quickly turned to do the same. He rushed a few steps forward -

\- and suddenly something grabbed him and slung him off to the side, immediately followed by a tortured female shriek of pain. Dimitri pushed himself up to see Byleth falling to one knee right where he had been standing moments before, red spears of light disappating right behind her. “Professor!” He cried, scrambling to his feet and hurrying over to her. Blood stained right through the back of her shirt, and she was trembling from shock. “Professor, are you alright? Linhardt!”

“I'm right here,” The green-haired boy panted, stumbling to a halt and raising both his hands. The small symbol of Minor Cethleann appeared above his hands as he cast heal once, and then twice. “That was pretty close, Professor.”

“Claude?” Byleth rasped after lifting her head and meeting Dimitri's eyes. “Bernadetta?”

“Right here, Teach,” Claude panted, coming to a halt next to her with a wide-eyed Bernadetta in tow. His emerald eyes were wide with worry and the sort of anger born of fear for another. “What kind of dodge was that?!”

“Sorry,” She responded quietly, tentatively trying to stand up. She nearly fell down again when her legs buckled, but that didn't deter her. “I panicked.”

“Panicked?” Bernadetta repeated anxiously. Her hands were shaking pretty badly, nearly bad enough to drop her bow. “Y-You?”

Byleth smiled faintly at her. “I thought I was about to see three of my students, my friends, get fatally skewered,” She responded quietly. _Three?, _Dimitri thought in confusion – because Claude and Bernadetta had gotten to safety completely on their own. “Yes, I panicked. I just did so quietly.” She kicked the hilt of the Creator's Sword back up into her hand. “Is everyone alright?”

“We're fine,” Hapi said a little shakily before pointing a finger. “I don't know about the others.”

Everyone followed where she was pointing to see an alarming sight. Jeralt, Balthus, and Hilda had tried to engage the original golem; clearly, however, their attacks had proven less effective than on the other two since they were scattered while the creation threw those lances of light from both hands instead of just one. Said lances – magical attacks of some sort, Dimitri was fairly sure of that by now – were strong enough to punch craters the size of tables in the hard earth. Meanwhile, Yuri was harassing and teleporting around a pair of assassins among the trees off to the right, clearly trying to lead them to a place where Ashe could shoot them down. However one of the enemies somewhere in that wooded area was an archer – judging by the occasional arrows flying back towards the silver haired teenager, which so far they'd both managed to avoid. _Lessened visibility goes both ways, after all. _

“Professor...what should we do?” Constance asked, quiet and deferential.

“Constance, Bernadetta, go help Yuri and Ashe. Hapi, Claude, use your discretion and provide cover where ever you can. Linhardt, you're still on healing duty, stay as far back as you can,” Byleth said without hesitation after watching the scene unfold for a moment. “Dimitri...stay with me. And everyone, be careful.”

Then she rushed down the slope to join her father.

_Go! Don't leave another to fight the monster. _

_Don't run away again! _

Dimitri's feet were moving before he fully came back to himself; he saw the others scatter to their tasks as he caught up with her, Hapi vanishing into the woods while Bernadetta came to a stop next to Ashe. As the two of them approached, Jeralt landed hard on his back after being rebuffed by the golem's arm when trying to attack it from behind. The man grunted and grabbed his sword, undeterred as it turned back towards him.

Byleth darted past him and swung the Creator's Sword upward. There was a flash of green around her hand – so quick that he thought he might have imagined it – and the burning blade cut through the thin metal that made up one of the golem's arms. It crashed to the ground, the power within its palm fizzling out. Unlike the other two, this did not damage the golden aura covering the rest of the creation, which turned to focus on her.

Dimitri quickly helped Jeralt to his feet and took a battle stance. On the other side of the golem, Balthus was hamming on the metal skirt with his relic gauntlets. A couple of cracking sounds suggested he was making a little progress, but not much; Hilda, meanwhile, darted back and forth, her hands glowing a light green, trying to get hits in where she could while staying away from any attacks headed her way. The pinkette was deceptively stocky, but not magically so.

The golem turned red; just as the previous one had. “Balthus, Hilda, get back!” Byleth ordered, retreating a few steps herself before unfurling the Creator's Sword. “This is an attack!”

“Heard ya!”

It wasn't quite as devastating as the volley he'd narrowly survived – it only had one hand to fire lances from – but the magic was at least twice as intense. Standing in front of the aftermath was like being within an inch of a wild fire; Dimitri had to blink spots out of his eyes.

“**THIEF KING! WHAT YOU'VE DONE IS UNFORGIVABLE!” **The golem screeched in that toneless voice; its head was focused unerringly on Byleth now, ignoring the rest of them completely.

Byleth straightened up, shook herself off and then took...an oddly out-of-character authoritative stance. The golem let out a massive roar, drowning out everything – including the words she was speaking. Dimitri could see her lips moving but hear nothing.

She tossed him a quick look, and he could have sworn that her eyes were a golden-green identical to various portraits of Saint Serios.

The Creator's Sword flared to life in a way that Dimitri had seen once before; back in Duscur, when she'd saved dozens of lives by rending the mountain, bringing a legend to life before his eyes. The blade of the sword split apart and glowed so brightly it was as if she was holding the sun in her hands; he raised his free hand to shield his eyes as that glowing blade of light lashed forward and cut bit into iron and steel with a singing _clang. _Wind and heat hit him like a physical blow, nearly knocking him off his feet for the second time; he heard a chorus of yelps behind him and the sound of the golden aura shattering like glass.

When his vision cleared, the golem bore a blazing molten wound from the lowest part of its skirt to the upper shoulder of its body; massive and gaping, dripping melted alloy while sparks flared within the darkened center. Yet amazingly, it still stood, swaying dangerously and trying to bring its hand up...

...Which came to a sudden stop when an arrow surrounded by golden light whipped past him and rammed into the other shoulder. This one did not bounce off the thick plating harmlessly; it pierced straight through sure as it had flown through the air, severing the last few threads holding the bizarre creation together. With a great and terrible scream, the golem's top half slid off its bottom and crashed to the ground, defeated.

A glimmering ball of light flew through the air, passing over Dimitri's shoulders and landing in Claude's waiting hand. The archer didn't take a second to brag or make a joke, instead running to Byleth's side and putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. The professor was extremely pale, but grasped his wrist nonetheless.

After a few moments pause, allowing the students to catch their breath, Hilda and Balthus hurried over from where they'd been fighting. “That was all of them,” the pinkette said breathlessly. “R-right?”

“Unfortunately? Not even close,” Yuri said grimly as he came into view. Byleth hissed at the bloody wound in his shoulder and quickly moved to tend to it. He gave her a quick strained smile of thanks before going on quickly, “There's a dozen more of those things lingering in the trees.”

“A _dozen?_” Jeralt repeated harshly. “There's no way we can fight that many; we'd break all our weapons trying. Where did these damned things come from?”

“They must be tied to the old magic in this place, left by the Apostles to protect the Chalice,” Yuri said. “The ghostly figures we've been fighting are constructs, not proper flesh-and-blood humans; that's why they turn to dust when 'killed'. That's not our biggest problem though. I was up in a tree, trying to get the lay of the land, and I saw the same flare of light that summoned the two golems back on the hill. Whatever this spellwork is, it can call in more enemies even as we defeat the ones approaching us. Unless we can cut off the magic at its source, we'll eventually be run down through sheer numbers.”

“Damn it!” Dimitri cursed, turning to look through the trees. He could see flickers of movement deep within the bush. “How can we proceed if the enemies can simply dogpile us until we're too weak to even lift our weapons?”

“Mmm...I think I found the other part of my plan,” Claude announced. Everyone turned to face him, and he spun an ornate key with the crest of flames carved on it around two fingers. “Call it a hunch, but I don't think we're meant to punch our way through all of them.”

“As opposed to...?” Yuri raised an eyebrow at him.

Claude smiled in return. “Where, approximately, did you see that light that called in reinforcements...?”

* * *

“I don't like this plan,” Dimitri muttered after running a horse through with his anti cavalry weapon and skewering the rider. Both figures burst into dust. “We should have gone with him.”

“We need to draw as many of the constructs away as possible,” Byleth said. She threw Nosferatu at the back of a warrior, staggering it and allowing Ashe to shoot it down. “I'd rather he wasn't alone too, but one person is less likely to be noticed.”

“Hurry up, Claude!” Hilda groaned, yanking her ax out of the ground where it had previously been stuck in an armored knight's head. “I'm runnin' on fumes here!”

They were in roughly the upper-center of the chasm, between two forested areas and directly north of the place Yuri had seen the light summoning. Dozens of warriors, assassins, archers and horseback lance wielders surrounded them in an encirclement, with two golems throwing lances at them and several more trying to make their way through the trees to add to the fight. The group was fighting defensively; archers and mages in the middle, everyone else serving as guards who stopped the enemy from reaching their weaker comrades while the latter sniped over their shoulders. It had very quickly burned down to an exhausting slog, defending and attacking with Yuri rushing back and forth getting people out of disadvantageous situations with the help of his relic.

“Professor, I'm low on arrows!” Ashe warned, taking a shot at the knight preparing to run down Balthus. The man slid off his horse, slowing it and letting the self-proclaimed king of brawling punch the ghost animal into submission.

“Understood. Bernadetta?”

“I-I'm okay for now; a-a-and I still have m-my sword!”

“Good! Constance?”

“Worry...not...” The blonde sighed heavily, sinking to her knees.

“Sit and rest,” Hapi snapped at her friend. Then she spun on her heels and cast Banshee. Dimitri's head snapped to the right, letting him see the assassin that would have cut his arm off if she hadn't got there first, and promptly rammed his lance through its eye. “She's as pale as these jerks, Professor. She needs a break!”

“My sword is broken,” Edelgard said in disgust, tossing the hilt to one side. “I'm worried my remaining ax isn't in much better shape, and I lost your short ax downing a sniper a minute ago.”

“Right; Edelgard, change over with me.” Byleth snapped her fingers and threw another Nosferatu. This one hit the ground, kicking up a dust cloud; it obscured that side of their formation long enough for the girls to dart past each other and assume their respective positions. “Father?”

“I'm managing, kid. Don't worry.”

They were managing for now, Dimitri noted dully, but he was starting to feel an ache in his muscles that Linhardt's healing only mostly alleviated. He wondered how much longer he could keep fighting like this against enemies that wouldn't tire and weren't deterred no matter how many were hacked down one after the other. Constructs they may be, but in a fight they hit like real humans, and the sting of their weapons was no less damaging.

Yuri cast a healing spell on Hilda, then teleported to Jeralt's side to give him a reprieve – his sword had just snapped. He stabbed the warrior in the knee, allowing him to slit the stomach and then finish it off by ramming his blade into its throat. However, he'd been so preoccupied he didn't see the horseman charging at him until the horse reared up. The teen tried to dodge, but it was sloppy; the hooves caught him in the shoulder, knocking him down. He managed to roll out of the way before the horse could stomp on him and shatter his ribs, but the knight wasn't idle, raising its lance for the kill...

And then it froze mid move. So did his horse. In fact, all of their enemies – golems included – had paused mid-movement as though time itself had come to a halt. Then, one by one, they crumbled into white dust that vanished in the wind, leaving only their ragtag crew in the forest now once again still and peaceful.

Yuri broke the moment of awed silence by laughing as he tried to get up. Ashe offered him a hand. “That lunatic...he played the trap like a fiddle. Here I thought that the constructs would prioritize protecting the magic nexus over all else, but he gambled and tricked them...a trap as old as Saint Serios!” Once on his feet, the violet-eyed teen kept chuckling. “There's something you don't see every day...”

Dimitri focused on catching his breath, though he felt a little like laughing himself. Incredulous laughter it might have been, but it was genuine. _That was one of the most difficult battles I've ever faced... _

Claude arrived in the plain moments later, whistling a merry tune and looking pleased as a cat with a canary. “We've fought and won, my friends!” He declared cheerfully. “Shall we go and collect our prize?”

Byleth started to say something, but she broke off in a squeak when Yuri slipped across the distance between them, cupped the back of Claude's head and pressed a soft, light kiss against the brunette's lips. “My hero,” The teen purred teasingly. “Yes, let's.”

A cracking sound distracted Dimitri from the eruption of cheers, laughter and teasing words that flooded the air. Glancing down, he realized that he'd snapped his steel lance in an instant – without even noticing.

He barely cared. His blood was on fire, and all he could see was Claude's flustered look quickly disappearing behind his usual teasing smile.

_I would have thought you'd be needing that, _Glenn said dryly.

“It was already cracking,” Dimitri growled, his eyes panning the ground for a replacement. While the constructs had vanished, their weapons remained behind.

_What's the matter?, _his friend asked tauntingly.

“Yuri! Why did he – he can't-”

_He can't what? He's been flirting on and off ever since he met Claude. Why can't he kiss the fallen star?_

“Because _I_ want him!,” Dimitri hissed, frustrated by his friend's lack of sympathy. Then he came up short, realizing only after the words had escaped his lips what he had just said – what he had finally managed to put to words. “...I....” He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening. “...I...I want...” His heart seemed to come to a total stop. His head felt light and the sounds of the others talking sounded very far away. “...I want him...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...wish I could put to words how devastating loosing that file was. Combined with the fact that this was my least favorite map in Cindered Shadows and one of my least favorite maps in the whole game, and my morale was pretty low. Again, I hope this new version is at least decent.
> 
> And next up is my favorite map in the DLC...the chase sequence. (cracks knuckles and smirks) I have some plans for it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude runs for his life in the maze beneath Garreg Mach and watches Byleth act out her promise to protect him.

Claude let the others through the undergrowth to the tall stone spire gracing the far right of the chasm. He felt light on his feet, so much so that he could laugh along with Balthus's teasing of his violet-eyed friend.

“Swear to the goddess, you are going to get yourself in deep shit someday pal,” The brawler laughed, smacking Yuri on the shoulder causing the latter to stumble and curse. “The trail of broken hearts you leave in your wake would lead those mercenaries straight to us if they knew where to look!”

“Oh, leave it,” Yuri said lazily. “Some of us enjoy having innocent fun on one occasion or another.” He tossed Claude an easygoing smile. “Isn't that right?”

“Sure, occasionally,” Claude replied easily, shrugging. “Considering that being Heir of House Riegan has frequently left me wondering if that's my only option other than being stuck in an arranged marriage with someone who barely tolerates me – if I get _real_ lucky – it tends to double as a source of solace.” _Not that I'd actually __**let**__ grandfather choose my wife. The old man's alright in the end, but that's not his decision to make._

His lips were still warm; he resisted the urge to let out a content little laugh at the feeling. Yuri had taken him by surprise, but honestly it was kind of nice. He could tell from the playful way the violet-eyed boy carried on that he was more interested in innocent, short-term fun as opposed to a committed relationship; he was also almost completely certain that's precisely what Yuri was implying. They had so much in common Claude wasn't certain how the long-term would work out between them; and if Yuri was as uncertain anyone would _want _anything long-term with him as _he_ was, the other teen wouldn't let his guard down that easily.

It felt good being admired...and if a nice afternoon could distract him from his hopeless attraction to Dimitri and increasingly intense feelings around Byleth, well, he'd welcome it with open arms.

“There's a depressing thought...” Ashe murmured. “The stories all talk about the knights and lords falling for their intended as soon as they lay eyes on them, but that doesn't happen for everyone, does it?” He sighed and tugged on the strap of his quiver. “I can't imagine marrying someone I didn't love, or who didn't love me. How could any good come out of that?”

“An excellent question,” Jeralt said dryly.

“Don't worry, Ashe,” Hilda said, slinging an arm around the younger boy's shoulder. “You just go out and find the perfect girl for you, and if anyone objects to you guys marrying, the Professor will beat them into submission.”

Byleth blushed and protested, “H-Hey! You make me sound like some sort of violent demigoddess...”

“What, am I supposed to believe you _wouldn't _do that?”

“I didn't say that,” Teach objected, only to blush and shrink back when Balthus, Yuri and even her father burst out in surprised laughter. “Agh...you'd think I solve every problem I come across with my fists...”

“Technically, it's in your job description to solve every problem with your fists.” Yuri said lightly. “If anyone thinks that odd, I'd have to ask them who has ever hired a skilled mercenary for their skills at peaceful negotiations.”

“Thank you ever so much,” Byleth sighed in resignation. She did smile just a bit though, and that was enough to twist Claude's chest into an increasingly familiar knot.

_Isn't this what you wanted?, _a sly voice very much like his mother's whispered. _You succeeded, Kovu. You charmed the so-called demon, drew her into your life until she chose to protect you on her own free will. You've won, little prince; the most feared mercenary of the generation is honestly devoted to you. What troubles you? ...Are you in too deep?_

Claude gave his head a quick shake and found himself catching her eye. Teach wove her way through the group and slowed when she reached his side to match his pace; there was something in her eyes that he couldn't quite identify mixed in with her usual fretting.

“Something the matter, my friend?” He asked, puzzled.

“Ah...” Byleth jumped a bit, blinking at him. She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I just...I got distracted. How are you feeling? Everyone else has managed to catch their breath, more or less, but I just wanted to be sure.” That was followed up by a hesitant smile. “Glad to see you managed to refill your quiver, at least.”

“I'm alright, Teach.” He reassured her, tamping down on the warm buzzing feeling in his chest. He doubted that he looked at all worn down, yet she'd come and asked anyway, just to be sure.

Bernadetta trotted up behind them with Constance by her side, still holding the blonde's hand. “Ugh...I really hope we can go back to the monastery soon,” The purple-haired girl moaned. “I'm so hungry I could eat a whole pegasus.”

“Don't let Ingrid hear you say that...” Dimitri said distantly. Claude tilted his head back a bit to catch a glimpse of the prince walking along behind them. He was about as dirty as the rest of them, but stood as straight-backed as ever, having retrieved his horse slayer and picked up two new lances from the scattered war trophies that had been left behind when the magic was sealed. (_It really had to be seen to be believed how easily Dimitri snapped iron and steel weapons like twigs between his fingers; when he'd done it against the Black Knight, it had been amazing. By now, however – it was just kind of funny._)

But what was hard to ignore – what was bothering the brunette, had been bothering him ever since they started looking for the Chalice – was how pale and agitated Dimitri's body language was. The prince had hardly spoken for most of the walk, only really reacting when others engaged him and half the time seemed to be listening for something no one else could hear. Also Dimitri was aware of his mood and trying to hide it, but his smiles were a thin mask over a mess of anxiety, distress and intense anticipation.

_Constance isn't the only one invested in finding the Chalice... _the brunette bit his lip. _Of course Mitya would believe right away that it has the powers ascribed to it; he's much closer to the Goddess than me. _Dimitri had elaborated a little, months before, about his moderate stance on the scriptures of Saint Serios and his faith in the goddess herself. He didn't hold all that was said to be absolute, but he _believed; _honestly and sincerely.

And Claude knew damn well what was on Dimitri's mind right now.

_By all that might well be sacred, my friend, don't pin all your hopes on this. _Worry buzzed in his chest._ I don't think you're going to get what you want... Raising someone from the dead can't possibly be that easy. It can't be. There has to be a catch. How can we be sure that what the Chalice brings back isn't a screwed up, diminished version of one of your loved ones?_

“I wonder what the others think we're doing right now,” Claude mused, aiming to draw the blonde into the conversation. “I mean, secret mission, sure, but I wonder if Lysithea actually accepted that...and I can't imagine Dedue is very happy right now.”

“Hubert is going to be absolutely _insufferable_ when we return,” Edelgard said with no small amount of dread as they approached the stone spire he'd slipped the key into many minutes ago. “I'll count myself lucky if I'm able to go anywhere without him for the next few _months._”

Dimitri didn't comment, causing Claude to huff. As Yuri, Hapi and belatedly Constance began to examine the spire and belatedly the stone wall behind it, he clasped Byleth's hand and tilted his head back over to the blonde. She smiled again, a little worried but mostly warm, and nodded encouragingly. Of course she had noticed too.

“About how angry do you think Dedue is going to be at me when he figures out I talked you into coming down into the tunnels without him?” He asked playfully, reaching out and touching Dimitri's wrist.

“A-Ah?” Dimitri started, jerking his arm away and staring back at the brunette with wide eyes. “W-What...oh,” He swallowed and suddenly seemed very interested in something over Claude's shoulder. “I d-don't know. I hope the others at least know that all is well.”

Claude blinked, bewildered. “My hand isn't cold or anything, is it?” He asked hesitantly. Dimitri hadn't reacted violently to him touching him before. _What did I do?_

“O-Oh, no, of course not; you just startled me.” The prince insisted, a hot blush rising to his cheeks as he looked everywhere but right at Claude. He shifted from one foot to the other, his body language immediately becoming nervous and...and..._shy_? “I'm sorry.” That smile was _definitely_ shy, and all the more gorgeous for it.

_W-Wh...why are you looking at me like that? _Claude wondered, his heart skipping a beat.

“Hey, check this out.” Hapi's voice cut in. The two turned around to see the redhead brushing her hand over the stone cliff-side directly ahead of them. “There's something drawn on the rocks here. They look like Crests.”

“Is that right?” Balthus asked, striding over. “Which ones?” Yuri and Constance were directly on his heels.

Hapi started to say something, only to yelp and stumble backwards. An aura of magic – something _very similar _to what Claude had felt not long ago when he put the key back within the spire and deactivated the spells sustaining the puppets – pulsed and blasted through the clearing, hitting all of them with a physical force that nearly knocked them off their feet. The ground shook violently, as did the stone wall; Claude saw Byleth dart forward and tug Hapi backwards, getting her out of the way of some falling stone. He recovered quickly (_it was an acquired skill_) and rapidly looked around, half-afraid they were about to be accosted by more dolls and puppets, but thankfully nothing appeared, even as the moments ticked on.

“Well,” Ashe said a little shakily, “I'm pretty sure that did something.”

“My Crest!” Constance gasped, raising her hand upward. There was a glittering light dancing around her palm; and moments later, a bright lance of light shone upward from the rock face that Hapi had been standing in front of. “That light is...”

Cautiously, the group approached the stone cliff. The light seemed to grow deeper as they approached; Byleth, being at the head of the pack, stepped forward until she was at the foot of the rocky face and gasped softly. Claude looked over her shoulder and saw what she saw – the four Crest symbols forming a square around a shield-sized hole in the rock. Having softened down to a low, steady pulse, light shone within the hole.

Slowly, Byleth reached into the hole with both hands; there was a sound of shifting sand and crinkling glass shards, and moments later she drew out a glimmering golden cup. It was a deep glass with a long stand, pure gold and platinum mingled together in glowing veins. Old characters and runes were carved in thin lines along the sides of the cup and the base. Four small rubies were impressed equally apart from each other, and opals studded the handhold. The light remained around it, pulsing softly like a heartbeat as she turned back toward them, gently cradling it in her hands.

“Is that...” Balthus asked slowly.

“Goddess...” Dimitri said softly, stepping forward. He hesitated before brushing his fingers along the rim of the chalice. “This has to be it.” He smiled in a shaky, hopeful way that sent a shiver down Claude's spine. The prince looked so fragile a single touch could shatter him.

“It's smaller than I imagined...” Ashe murmured, jostling with Hilda to get a better look at the artifact.

“That's funny. I mean, it doesn't really look old, does it?” Bernadetta wondered.

“What do you think, Constance?” Balthus asked, glancing over at the blonde. “Is this it, or isn't it?”

Constance tugged at her sleeves. _Didn't think I'd say this, but I'm kinda missing you being haughty and on top of things, princess, _Claude thought ruefully. _This just feels sad to watch. I guess none of the people who come down here have happy stories to tell. _“That quaking earlier..” The blonde said uncertainly. “Some kind of sealing magic related to the Crests was in place here.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “Whether intentionally or not, the chalice was released. I hesitate to suggest that those things were the cause.”

A thought hit Claude like an arrow, quickly followed by a rush of alarm. “Are you saying we tripped some sort of magical security?”

“At the very least, the Crests were they key to unbinding the Chalice.” Constance responded, before frowning at him. “I...cannot say. I would have thought that we have already bypassed the protection laid by those who came before.”

“Crests that happen to resemble those of the Four Apostles, engraved on a stone wall...” Linhardt hummed, giving no sign he heard Claude's concern. “It certainly fits, at least...”

The ground trembled violently. “I don't like this,” He announced bluntly. “Let's get back to Abyss.”

Byleth's eyes widened slightly. Claude swore that he saw a flicker of green-golden light in her eyes before she blurted, “yes; we can't afford to linger here any longer. I wonder if there's another entrance into the tunnels from here.” She frowned at the Chalice for a minute before, with a little ingenuity, she managed to secure and buckle it to her belt. “Come on, everyone move a bit quickly.”

* * *

Claude had to give it to whoever had worked these spells – they had a sick sense of humor.

“Linhardt!” Edelgard yelled, turning back. The young priest had fallen behind again, and tripped to boot. A white hot light illuminated the hallway right behind him when Byleth – who'd fallen to the back of the pack – spun on one heel, ran back and grabbed the green-haired teen under the shoulders. She yanked him to his feet with the sort of strength typically associated more with Dimitri while dragging him forward several feet; Linhardt managed to find his footing and start running just as the lance of magic smashed into the ground where he had fallen, obliterating it and carving a massive crater in the floor. Claude nearly crashed into a wall trying to keep an eye back on them; Jeralt grabbed his shoulder and turned him to the side, saving him from a broken nose and likely concussion.

“I'm okay,” Linhardt wheezed. Byleth didn't dignify that with an answer; instead she grabbed her student's arms and wrapped them around her neck, shifting his weight and pulling his feet off the floor as she began to run faster.

“What the hell? All those holes it's blasting in the ground aren't slowing it down at all!” Claude cursed as Byleth reached him and Jeralt. Without a word, the old knight took Linhardt from his daughter and slung the kid over his shoulder before taking off running. Byleth grabbed his wrist, wheezing slightly, and they ran forward side by side – dodging the lance of light that smashed through the wall at the corner. “How the hell does that even work?”

“Fucking magic,” Byleth bit out in a short breath.

He let out a slightly hysterical laugh; “Oh, so you can curse. I'd been wondering.”

The thundering crash of another attack hitting the ground sounded somewhere behind them; Byleth nudged him hard with her shoulder while yelling “move to the right!”, moments later, the blazing magic lance carved a semi circle across the floor from behind, missing the group by the grace of a foot or two before traveling up the wall and into the ceiling. The hallway trembled as parts of plaster, stone and sand rained down from the slowly crumbling ceiling; Claude cursed violently when a stone chunk hit his shoulder; nearly throwing off his sense of balance and sending him sprawling to the floor. Byleth's hand anchored him, however; she leveraged her weight so he could regain his balance against her without slowing in the slightest.

Claude shot another quick glance over his shoulder. Undeterred by the debris or the holes it was punching in the ground, the glowing pure white golem continued hurtling after them, its hands raised for another overpowered blast of magic. The blazing light of a Crest hovered above its head, but he had neither the ability not the inclination to attempt to make out the symbol. Fortunately it did seem that debris and the like did slow the construct down _somewhat, _so they took full advantage of that; putting on the extra speed and turning yet another corner.

They rushed down a vaguely familiar passageway and shut the door; not a solution, just a delaying action. Byleth didn't give them more than a few seconds to catch their breath before she was running again, leaving everyone scrambling to follow her example.

“Oh, my poor abused legs!” Constance moaned, sounding much more like her usual self. “I have been remiss to neglect my...lower body...exercise of late!” For such a dainty-looking lady, she could run like a madwoman, easily keeping pace with Yuri, Byleth, Dimitri and himself.

“Don't give up!” Yuri shouted back, spinning around to catch Bernadetta before she could crash to the ground. “We're almost back to Abyss!” Once the purple-haired girl was on her two feet, he grabbed her hand and lead her forward, forcing her to match his pace and not lag behind. “What a damned mess we've gotten ourselves into...”

_Understatement of the last six centuries!, _Claude wanted to retort, but swallowed it in favor of concentrating on his breathing.

They'd been lured into a false sense of security; nothing else had attacked them in the chasm, only for this damned golem to appear out of thin fucking air the very _instant _they set foot back into the underground chamber. Byleth had taken one look at it and screamed – not ordered, _screamed –_ for them to forget trying to fight and flee for their lives. Literally _don't ask, just run!_; they'd narrowly managed to get into the passageway on the far side (they way they'd used to come down being on the other side of the golem!) before the place where they'd been standing was obliterated with a magical attack so powerful it dwarfed all the puppets they'd just fought two times over. They'd attempted to take potshots at it a few times when they managed to put a little distance between it and themselves, but this had done less than nothing – magic dissipated upon contact, while arrows and lances bounced off the shining white plate. Linhardt had nearly died once already, struggling to keep up with his far more athletic friends; Ashe had tripped and would have died where he'd fallen if not for Byleth's ridiculous battlefield intuition causing her to slow down enough that she could be next to him, pull him up and carry him forward a few steps until he found his footing again.

And no matter which way they turned, it wouldn't. Stop. Chasing them!

“We should give up. Just throw the chalice at the damned thing and be done with it. It doesn't seem like it's going to ease off,” Hapi shouted from her position slung over Balthus's shoulder. Like Linhardt, she'd quickly fallen behind, and Byleth had urged the self-proclaimed king to carry her – he and Jeralt were the only ones strong enough to do so and not have their own momentum suffer for it, and Jeralt was further ahead. “If that doesn't work, I guess we're dead!”

“Ahahaha!” Claude spared a sliver of brainpower to be utterly amazed that Constance had enough air in her lungs to laugh before redoubling his pace as another lance crashed into the ground at their metaphorical heels. “I think not! I shall never surrender!” The blonde fired back. “I shall not die until I achieve my glorious aim!”

_Well, that makes two of us, _He thought with grim determination. “There's no way the curse that summoned that thing covers all of Garreg Mach,” He shouted, “We just have to outrun it!”

“Claude's right!” Linhardt wheezed out from where his position slung over Jeralt's shoulder. “Spells like this are bound to an area with borders; they're designed to work in tandem with living people! The idea is that if the robber isn't killed by the spell itself, they'd be driven to the edge where the keepers of the spell would capture them! As wide as this one obviously is, it can't be extended indefinitely!”

“How are we supposed to figure out where the border might be?” Dimitri asked in desperate frustration, catching Hilda when she tripped over a catch in the ground and steadying her.

“It's better than no plan at all,” Byleth responded urgently. Her expression was set in a mask of controlled fear and resolve in equal measure.

“Yuri,” Ashe panted out, “A-are you s-sure you know w-where we're going? I don't recognize these halls at all”

“Positive!” Yuri swore. “I promise, we're close! Hang in there, everyone!”

They blew past a fork in the road, and Claude let out a long, strangled series of colorful obscenities when _very familiar _pale-beyond-reason, ghostly humanoid figures ran emerged from the halls they hadn't chosen to join the chase. _Does the goddess have a mortal grudge against grave robbers or something?! Fucking Garreg Mach itself didn't have this kind of gods-be-damned security!_ He grabbed a torch out of its holder and threw it back on the ground behind him; it caught on the dried leaves scattered all across the floor and spread the length of the hallway. The ghostly figures hesitated a bit before running through it; some of their clothes caught fire, and a few of them stumbled backwards. But run through it they did, and even those who were ablaze kept up the chase with single-minded determination.

Claude also dearly hoped that Yuri really did know the way back to Abyss through here, because he'd long since lost track of where they were in the tunnels. The halls were a blurry line of stone and orange light coming from torches; and they were going back a different way than they came. The violet-eyed teen sounded completely confident, however, and in this situation he was going to have to trust that he would come through for them.

They rushed through another doorway, Byleth taking up the rear. She checked her momentum, ran a few steps to the right, grabbed the level controlling the iron gate and threw it. With a rusted _clang_, they slid closed and she came forward to join the group; everyone was gasping for air and Bernadetta was shaking so badly Claude was impressed she could stand.

“For crying out loud,” Balthus panted, placing Hapi back on her feet for a moment. “Those creepy toy things must love a good chase. They won't let up!”

“Further measures to protect the Chalice, I'm sure,” Yuri muttered. He roughly dragged a hand through his wet bangs, pulling his hair away from his ears and tucking it under the collar of his shirt. “If it's capable of what the legends say, it makes sense. Maybe Hapi's right, and something will keep popping up to retrieve it.”

“We can't lead these things back to Abyss,” Ashe said anxiously, choking on a quick but violent coughing fit. Balthus smacked him on the back until his throat cleared up. “They'll go through anything and anyone to get to us!”

A thundering rumble behind them signaled that their small mercy lead was rapidly drying up. “There's nothing we can do but run right now,” Byleth gritted out. “Everyone get ready. Bernie?”

“I'll m-manage,” The girl stammered between gulps of air. “I want to live...I really, really want to live...!”

“I know a place we might be able to keep the enemy at bay,” Yuri said as they rushed up to the gate on the other end of the room; this one was locked shut. Ashe's hands shook as he worked with the lock. “It's not far; you'll recognize it.”

Balthus blinked twice, and then his eyes widened. “Oh yeah, the front gates! They're so damn sturdy I nearly broke my priceless fists on them once!”

“You _what_?!” Hilda shrieked.

“Balthus,” Yuri said with the voice of a man clinging to the last threads of his sanity, “If you broke the door's mechanisms, I'm sacrificing you to the creepy doll thing.”

Any further witty commentary was discouraged by the human puppets slamming into the door behind them, hacking away at it with their swords and axes. A familiar flare of white light materialized in the distance behind them; Byleth pushed Bernadetta through the door, then grabbed Hapi and picked her up in lieu of Balthus, who grabbed Linhardt. They took off at a breakneck run just as the lance of light crashed into the gate, obliterating it and the constructs that had been trying to bypass it.

They ran down a long hallway; Edelgard took Hapi from Byleth and carefully passed her over to Jeralt, all without stopping. Once again unburdened, Claude watched his Teach put on a burst of speed, bypass Yuri and turn the corner first. “Get ready!” She yelled back to them, the telltale sound of the Sword of the Creator crashing against the ground filling his ears. “Enemies ahead!"

“They've spawned ahead of us, too?” Jeralt swore as they caught up. “Kid, what's the-?”

“Edelgard, Dimitri, take your weapons and go to the right! There are two assassins and a lance user waiting to jump us, deal with them!” Byleth shouted over him. “Constance, there's a dark mage on the far left and an archer just south of him. Light them up! We can't afford to stop!”

_How could you-? _Claude started to wonder, but Constance spun to the right and raised one hand. He saw the Bolting spell crash down on the floor, sending both ghostly figures sprawling and turning one back into dust and motes of light. Meanwhile Dimitri had obeyed her without question while Edelgard hesitated for a few confused seconds; meaning the prince was forced to dodge one of the assassins and parry the other's attacks rather than managing to kill either, and a figure with a lance was creeping up on him.

Claude darted forward, one arrow in hand, and reached for his crest. _Please let this hit, _he prayed to no one in particular before letting loose. Perhaps the goddess of Fodlan was not as mercurial as some of her followers would have had him believe, because the arrow lodged itself in the head of one of the assassins, dropping him and giving Dimitri the leg room he needed to overpower the other with brute force and ram its own sword straight through its stomach and out its back. Edelgard, having caught up to him then, quickly buried her ax in the face of the lance wielder, causing it to vanish as well.

“There's a shortcut across the room, but it's blocked off,” Byleth said rapidly, pivoting and lashing the Creator's Sword out to the side. Claude twisted in time to see the blade cut through another assassin that had emerged from around the corner Constance's Bolting had otherwise decimated. She gestured straight ahead to where another humble set of iron gates awaited them; just beyond it, two torches illuminated a narrow hallway. “Can anyone see a lever?”

Yuri threw her a look that was equal parts amazement and confusion before quickly returning his attention to the room; he darted forward several steps as Hilda grabbed a discarded sword from the ground and threw it at a warrior approaching from the side. She didn't manage to drive the blade into him, but the impact staggered him enough that Linhardt could take him down with a fireball. “Yes! Its in the far back on the left side!” He shouted back. “Someone will have to go and pull it! It's a bit out of the way, though, you might have trouble catching up!”

As if to emphasize his words, the rumbling of the approaching golem grew even louder mixed with the crunching of the previous gates being torn apart as it passed them by.

“I'll take care of that,” Jeralt said flatly, bowing to Hapi's adamant wishes by putting her down again. “Don't worry.” He stepped to the side and running with a speed that belied his age and size into the dark corner.

“Ashe, Bernadetta, there are two mages armed with Death spell on the other side of the gates,” Byleth instructed as she darted towards said gates. “Take them out, I'll handle the armored knights with them when the gate opens! Claude, Dimitri, Balthus, Edelgard,” She pointed to the open mouth of a hallway right next to the gate, “more enemies are going to come pouring out of there, take point and try to form a defensive wall! Linhardt, keep everyone healthy! Go, go, go!”

_Wait, but how could you-? _Claude didn't really get a chance to dwell on that; the scraping sound of the golem's approach along with the thundering of many footsteps on the stone floor snapping him into action. Bernadetta and Ashe darted forwards and he kept at their heels, eyes training on the open hall. He briefly wondered why they hadn't tried going around the side via hugging the wall, but the answer to that became quickly apparent when a flurry of ghostly arrows from Bernadetta laid out one of the mages. Warriors, swordmasters and heavily armored knights all appeared from around the corner, running straight for them. Claude's eyes counted seven, eight, twelve before he jerked his bow up and took aim.

Ashe let out a pained cry from a spell impact but kept his stance, firing back twice. Linhardt promptly cast physic on him, and just as he did so, the gates pulled open with a metal screech. Balthus and Dimitri ran past either side of him while this happened, weapons at the ready and braced shoulder to shoulder. Claude jumped back several steps, glancing back at Byleth as she threw herself past her two diminutive archers and engaged with two constructs that had the look of Fortress Knights. That kind of armor could only be worn by the strongest men alive and was notoriously hard to pierce with any sort of non magical weapon, yet the Creator's Sword tore through that protection like a hot knife carving up a roast; Hapi threw fireballs at the other one while Jeralt appeared from around the corner.

“Back up, back up!” Byleth shouted, leaving the hall while pushing Bernadetta to enter and make her way forward. She nudged her way between Claude and Balthus before throwing a torch on the ground just as he had a little while ago. Constance threw another fireball to fan the flames, turning the fire into a blaze that cut off a large chunk of the massive hoard from the mouth of the entrance. Balthus and Dimitri were struggling with a pair of warriors while Edelgard had taken an arrow to the shoulder; Claude shot down the archer responsible while Dimitri's crest flared up allowing him to slam his fist into his opponent's face, breaking their neck and shattering them. Balthus threw a flurry of punches at the warrior across from him that was so quick his hands were a blur; he backed up as the form shattered, watching warily as the constructs tried to make their way through the fire.

“Keep moving,” Byleth rasped in a tone that was rough and pleading. Claude turned around and noticed her face was intensely pale and bloodless. “It'll only hold them for a moment, keep moving.” He looked over her shoulder and blanched when he saw the golem turning towards them and approaching at an even pace.

Jeralt put a steadying hand on Edelgard's shoulder as Linhardt pulled the arrow out while healing her wound, minor Crest of Cethleann visible for all to see while he cursed under his breath. He shepherded them into the hallway after Ashe and Bernadetta, who were firing arrows at three swordmasters and another fortress knight steadily approaching them.

“Hang in there, kids!” Balthus said when he backed in and joined them. A flare of magic swirled around his gauntlets; he planted one foot backward and punched straight forward – aiming at the swordmaster ahead of Ashe. A massive glowing fist flew forward, crossing the full distance in a blink before crashing into the construct. It didn't disintegrate them but it did allow Ashe and Bernadetta to finish it off.

“T-Thank you!” Bernadetta squeaked out before stringing up another arrow.

Edelgard nudged past Ashe and blocked off the fortress knight from the pair of them. Constance was directly at her heels, and promptly unleashed a barrage of arrow magic that tore through the heavy armor. The hallway led out into a room that looked a little familiar – were these the very same set of tunnels they had entered Abyss with? – through an equally narrow entrance way which thankfully was already open. Mercifully the room looked comparative empty of enemies as well. If they could just get through it...

“Yuri, behind you!” Byleth's warning cracked over the crash of weapons and crackling of flames; the violet-eyed teen warped to her side without hesitation, forcing the knight that had been right behind him to slice uselessly through thin air as opposed to stabbing through his spine.

Balthus blocked a blow from a warrior; Dimitri quickly followed that up by impaling the construct through the eye with a discarded sword. The two managed to retreat a number of steps before the wave of opponents crashed against them again, forcing them to hold the line; aside from the archers doing their best to support them, they had both urged the others to run for the end of the hall. Jeralt grabbed an ax off the ground and threw it over Dimitri's shoulders, knocking the warrior trying to overpower him backwards.

Claude shot down the swordmaster forcing his way past Balthus when suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly pushed him into the wall. Righting himself with one foot against the wall, Claude saw Byleth back up and narrowly avoid the assassin he hadn't seen slitting her throat. An arrow punched through the construct's neck from behind, causing it to shatter into dust; Claude gave Ashe a quick wave of thanks before touching his professor's arm. She gave him a tight smile and pushed him again, this time toward the exit – cutting off his attempt to ask if she was seriously hurt. “Hurry! It's gaining!”

Bernadetta glanced over her shoulder, shrieked in terror and bolted for the entrance way. A massive flare of white light – one that illuminated the entire hallway like the rising sun – nearly blinded him for a couple of seconds before another lance crashed into the ground not far from him. Dimitri was knocked off his feet by the impact, landing painfully on the ground near him. Claude hissed at the blood staining the prince's arms and knelt, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Linhardt!” He yelled.

“He's going ahead,” Yuri said, materializing next to him as he pulled Dimitri to his feet. The violet-eyed teen placed a glowing hand on his friend's arm while urging them forward; another growing flare of white magical energy staining the floor around them. “I've got this; don't stop. Can you still run, Dimitri?” The impact wasn't far behind them, causing the ceiling to crackle threateningly and knocking Claude's teeth together. He grimaced and swallowed hard.

“Yes; I'm fine!” The prince hissed, jerking free of Claude's arm. Blue eyes, wide and almost unseeing met his; awash with panic, dread, and some kind of distance in them the brunette couldn't describe. “Don't wait for me, please, just go!”

“I'm not leaving without you, moron,” Claude retorted, reaching for his friend again as they started to run.

“_I can't have anyone else die for me!”_ Dimitri practically screamed back at him. “Go ahead if you have to, don't _stop_!”

Claude was so stunned he nearly lost his footing; Dimitri must have noticed because he lashed out and grabbed his shoulder, steadying him. The blonde relentlessly pulled him onward until they were through the gateway; but even as they ran, light flooded the ground again. Claude glanced over his shoulder and saw the golem frozen at the entrance to the hall, the ceiling too low for it to force its way through; both its hands were raised up, pointing straight at them.

A couple of things happened in rapid succession. Dimitri glanced back as they crossed over the threshold, muttered something he couldn't hear over the rest of the racket, then pushed Claude to the left; his enhanced strength sending him sprawling behind the relative safety of the stone wall. Landing painfully on his arms, Claude blinked and looked back to see Byleth dart over to Dimitri's side and raise both her hands forward. Then the lance of light flew forward, exploded, and filled the room with blinding light.

Claude shut his eyes on reflex, his heart pounding so violently he thought it would burst. _D-Did he just...you can't have... _he couldn't form the sentence even in his own mind. _I...I can't hear anyone else screaming. Did Teach manage to grab him...? They both...ah...! _

He blinked a few times, stars flickering through his vision...

...and saw Byleth, still standing in front of Dimitri, with a massive silver shield floating in the air just in front of her outstretched hands. The ground around them was scorched, the gouges torn by the attack continuing in a V shape behind them for several feet. Moments later, the iron gates slid closed seemingly of their own volition; and all the noise from the constructs on the other side suddenly cut out and ceased.

Byleth let out a shaky breath, dropping her arms to her sides. The shield vanished, and she spun around, rounding on Dimitri, who was staring wide-eyed at her. A glance to the side showed Jeralt, Edelgard, Bernadetta and Balthus wearing identical expressions of stunned disbelief. “Idiot!,” She blurted. “Why didn't you throw yourself out of the way too?!”

She didn't give him a chance to answer; she lunged and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him as tightly as though she expected him to vanish if she let go. Dimitri staggered backwards, startled; he stood frozen while she clung to him, her shoulders shaking. “Idiot...” She whispered, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Idiot...”

“I...”

“Are they gone?” Hapi asked warily, awkwardly walking past the display and glancing down the doorway. “What the hell...? They really all just vanished. Are we past the border?”

The answer to that was swift, immediate and _resoundingly negative. _Claude had barely gotten back to his feet and picked up his bow when there was a familiar warping sound. Noises of disbelief and horror echoed from everyone behind him as the pure white golem reappeared in the corner of the room they'd taken refuge in. It twitched, looking back and forth, before its arms began to move. While that was happening, a warlock and an assassin appeared one after another.

Byleth let go of Dimitri and turned around toward the enemy. There was a flicker of light around her...

_My eyes are playing tricks on me, _Claude thought even as he cried out to them. He could have sworn that within that light, his Teach suddenly had floor length green hair and jeweled bracelets. The light shimmered and then formed into spheres around her hands...

“_**Sirius**_!” Byleth yelled just as the golem started to move. Magic cracked through the air so thickly that Claude could barely breathe; a massive sphere of dark blue light flew from her hands and engulfed the golem, swallowing it whole. Then the magic shuddered, trembled, and exploded outwards like lava bursting out from the earth. Something cracked and then shattered; as the light burst outward and started to fade, pieces of metal and clay flew in multiple directions. The warlock and assassin were caught in the blast and incinerated – blasted into dust outlines on the back wall.

The golem rocked backwards; its outer armor had been blasted into slag, what few patches remained melting and sliding to the ground. It had seemingly shrunk slightly in stature, shivering and creaking as it struggled to balance itself after the dramatic loss of weight. It looked like a human burned down to their skeleton.

Claude took a few steps forward, staring disbelievingly at his teacher's back. As the light faded, that long green hair rustled a bit as Byleth turned. A soft dark blue and gold lined dress had replaced her regular blood-splattered outfit. “Ah...” But just as his mind fully comprehended this, the illusion shattered, revealing his professor as she collapsed to her knees, coughing violently. Her whole body was trembling.

“Professor!” Dimitri knelt next to her while Jeralt rushed over. Claude cursed and brought his bow up, because despite that strange and incredible display of magic, constructs were _still _warping in. He sniped down a warlock while Jeralt muttered something to his daughter, then picked her up while Dimitri scrambled to his feet. Claude fired at the assassin following up on them, bringing him to his knees so Ashe could finish him off; Jeralt carried Byleth back toward the group while Dimitri sprinted to the far end of the room for what Claude quickly realized was a lever.

He glanced over his shoulder; Yuri, Hapi, Constance, Bernadetta and Hilda were all hovering warily just in front of a locked gate blocking their progress further into the room. There was an open hallway at the far right of the room, and a familiar one at that; however, it was the long way around and Byleth waved off Ashe when he started to move towards it to investigate. Ashe and Balthus were standing further back, at the ready, and both of them were keeping an eye on Dimitri as he threw the lever with a grunt. The gate came open with a screech.

“The first one closed on its own...” Linhardt panted. He was looking a little gray in the face, but he shooed away Hapi's offer of support. “How does that work?”

“We'll figure it out later,” Yuri said, darting into the room. He cursed. “Damn it, locked door again – get in here everyone, quickly! There's still a ways to go!”

Yet another warlock warped in as Dimitri made his way back across the room; Claude glanced at Ashe in time to see the silver-haired boy shoot at the distant target. His first shot went wide, but his second one hit home, causing the the fireball that would have hit the prince to harmlessly strike on the pillars instead. “Nice,” Claude said, before running over when Dimitri slumped against the pillar near to him, catching his breath. He skidded to a halt and offered him his free hand, internally warring between anger and gratitude. “C'mere, idiot; I've got you.”

“That's not going anyway any time soon, is it..?” Dimitri sighed, then clasped his hand tightly. He was still shaking a bit.

“No is isn't,” Claude responded with far more heat than he'd intended as he yanked his friend to his feet. “Don't worry, I'll save yelling at you for when I can spare the breath.”

“Thank you,” The prince said with perfect sincerity, avoiding Claude's eyes.

They were halfway to the gateway when Claude saw movement out of the corner of his eye. “Behind me,” He told Dimitri before stopping, pivoting on one foot and firing into the open hallway. His arrow hit the incoming attack out of the air; his second hit the sniper in the shoulder.

This one, however, did _not _dissolve into light. Instead he staggered back, cursing virulently. Two brawlers emerged from around the corner behind him. One of them whistled. “Whoa...it's just like the boss said. They really did make it back!”

His partner smirked, punching his gauntlets together. “Right. Which one of you has the treasure? Hand it over!”

Claude let out an incredulous laugh; that earned him a _very _strange look from Dimitri and a worried stare from Ashe, but he hardly noticed. “Oh, you mean you want to fight the endless hoards of ghosts instead? That's so sweet!” Two more assassins, white as snow and relentless as ever, were tearing across the room towards them. “We'll just leave you to it, then!”

He turned around and bolted after Ashe, dragging Dimitri with him. “We've got a problem!” He gasped when he reached Byleth, who was standing on her two feet again with Jeralt at her side. Yuri had just picked the lock on the door and just barely halted from pushing it open when he spun around. “Another problem, that is!” He amended quickly. “Our bandit friends are back! And they know we have 'treasure' on us!”

“You've got to be kidding me!” Hilda blurted out, paling. Byleth, however, just shut her eyes in silent resignation. “How?!”

“How much could they have surmised?” Constance questioned in shock. “We only left to find the Chalice this morning!”

“Escape now, theorize later!” Yuri snapped, taking a step back. “Everyone be ready for archers or mages! I don't doubt they're waiting for us on the other side.” He kicked the door open and immediately turned invisible.

It was a smart reaction. There were over half a dozen bandits waiting in the very next room; mostly knights and archers with a mage and two men on horses again – somehow. Claude could just barely hear the sound of footsteps on the far side of the wall as well; he turned his head to the left and saw a series of arrow slits in the brick. Through them, he could see black figures moving past.

“Ashe, help Claude,” Byleth said. “Take out a few of them, but don't linger too long; keep up, don't loose sight of us. Bernie, Hapi, stay behind me when I go in. Father, Balthus, watch the rear. Constance, scatter that group with Bolting!” She shouted the last part so Yuri could hear it and prepare accordingly.

Constance nodded quickly and raised her hand upwards, glaring through the door. “Ever so sorry!” She sneered before snapping her fingers. The crack of lightning had never been such a welcome sound to Claude's ears; he darted across the room and took up point while yells of alarm, agony and confusion filled the air before them. The black figures on the other side of the stone stumbled to a stop, bumping into each other. He lined up an arrow and let out a slow breath – he very rarely was in a position to make use of arrow slits, so he had to put a little more effort into aiming. Then he fired, and to his relief, the arrow didn't get caught on the wall and hit its target smoothly. Whoever it was screamed and collapsed; Ashe's first arrow hit the wall, which actually made him curse – Claude was startled, and then startled that he had the energy to be surprised by a little thing like that. _There's a first. _The other teen was clearly holding onto his nerves with both hands.

“I've got you!” Ashe swore before shooting again. This time, the arrow went through the slit and hit the target. “I wish we could see how many were on the other side -”

“That would be – shit, duck!” Claude grabbed his arm and pulled him down, allowing him to dodge the blazing hot fire spell that otherwise would have hit both of them on impact. _That was stronger than any fire spell I've ever seen, _he thought dully. _Our interested party must be shelling out for more higher tier canon fodder! _

“Thank you,” Ashe said shakily. “That was close.” He pushed himself up onto one knee and lifted his bow again.

“We're cutting things a bit fine here, even by our standards,” Claude huffed. Then he saw Ashe launch an arrow at a _very _unfavorable angle, yet he both got through the slit and hit his target. “Man, if you keep this up, I'm actually going to have to work to keep my edge.”

Ashe blushed and stuttered in response; Claude pulled him to his feet and they both abandoned that position to take up point in the doorway to the room while Balthus and Jeralt put down the few bandits and constructs that weren't busy attacking each other. Inside the room ahead was total chaos; Hilda was wrenching her ax out of a downed armored knight, Edelgard kicked aside the dead body of an archer while leaning over and retching miserably, two arrows stuck in her back. Linhardt was doing his best to remove them while healing her. A mage aiming at Byleth's back jerked as a sword impaled him from behind; Yuri faded into view her moments later, disinterestedly pulling his weapon free before throwing a Nosferatu off into the corner. There was a startled yelp followed by a tortured cry as Death pierced through another armored knight's defenses; Hapi was standing back to back with Constance, who was attacking someone further down. Byleth, meanwhile...

Claude whistled for Balthus and Jeralt to keep up, and then moved to the edge of the corner just in time to see Byleth swing the Creator's Sword in a wide arc, tearing up the ground and sending magical flames across the floor, setting clothes ablaze and forcing the remainders of the troop they had been hassling stumbling backwards. He let out a little relieved sigh, both that they had a little breathing room and that Dimitri was at her side, protecting her and not engaging in any suicidal heroics.

_Why do I feel like you two are going to be the death of me?, _he thought ruefully.

“Hang in there, everyone!” Byleth yelled, retreating from the burning ruin she'd created. Her eyes softened in relief when they landed on him for a moment before she surveyed the rest of the room. Balthus rushed over to Hilda and placed his hands on her shoulders, hurriedly examining her for any sign of injury while she did the same for him. Jeralt emerged and offered a slightly dizzy looking Constance his arm, which she accepted gratefully. “The exit's straight ahead. It's being held by enemies, but if we push through them we'll be able to close the final gate behind us!”

“You recognize this place from the previous night?” Yuri asked her while casting Recover on her wounds.

“Sort of,” Byleth mumbled, half to herself, and she was moving before Yuri could properly follow up on the question.

“How many enemies are ahead?” Jeralt asked.

“About two dozen,” His daughter replied with the blunt frankness Claude remembered from when they first met, only the heaviness was born out of a tangible exhaustion rather than seemingly nothing at all. “Multiple classes; knights in the vanguard, archers following up, the rest will swarm around us.”

“Can we choke the doorway?” The Blade Breaker eyed the narrow entrance way with uneasy speculation.

“Not safely. Too many archers, and no one here has heavy armor.” Byleth sighed heavily. “I really wish Lysithea and Marianne were here...” She shook her head. “There's a side room on the right; Claude, Bernadetta, you can use the wall for cover and picking enemies off. Balthus, Hilda, Dimitri, father, go ahead and prepare to hold the line, they'll come down when they see us enter. I'll be with you. Hapi, Ashe, Constance, Linhardt, stay just behind us. Yuri, keep an eye out for enemy maneuvers, focus on keeping everyone safe. That should work...” She paused, gasping for breath. She pressed one hand against her face; her shoulders shivered. “I hope.”

Worry pulsed under Claude's skin, heavy and sickening in its certainty. He went to her side and gasped her hand tightly. “I trust you, Teach,” He promised. “You stay back and rest; you've run yourself ragged.”

“Can't,” Byleth rasped. She looked at him with a small, weak smile. “Sorry.”

“Teach-”

She squeezed his hand back, closing her eyes. The gesture was so gentle and tender it was almost frightening. “My students, my responsibility.” Her grip on the Sword of the Creator tightened, and she tugged her hand free before running off after Balthus and the others.

_Sothis damn it, Teach! Let us take care of you for once! _Claude thought with a well of frustration and worry. He rushed after her, Bernadetta at his side. The purple-haired girl was terribly pale and there was an unhealthy looking amount of blood on her jacket, but she was moving without trouble. That was good.

Byleth was right about the enemy; a wall of armored knights and assassins was blocking off the gateway in front of the stairwell. This was the way they had first come in, was that ironic? As Balthus, Dimitri and Jeralt advanced onto three of the enchanted floor tiles and took up defensive positions, they surged forward in a black wave.

“You alright there, Bernie?” He asked when he took up point against the wall that Byleth had indicated. Fortunately the side room was completely empty of potential enemies, so there was no trouble there, and Linhardt could be hidden from snipers. “You look like you got roughed up a bit.”

“I-I'm okay,” Bernadetta responded, drawing an arrow with shaky hands. “I-I was in trouble a couple of times, but Yuri's been taking care of me. He even took a magic blast to the back...”

_Yeah, he's definitely Micah. Wonder what's keeping him from just telling her that. _“They're a loyal bunch considering how we met them, aren't they?” He shot down a mage approaching Dimitri, scowling. _How can everyone and their mother somehow intuit that he can't resist magic at all? _

“T-They're not so bad,” Bernie agreed, wincing when her arrow went wide and missed the archer she'd been aiming for – nearing hitting Jeralt. “A-Ah...oh no, I c-can't get my hands to stop shaking...I'm so tired...”

Claude put a hand on her shoulder. “Linhardt, can you have a look at Bernie? Ashe, change over, I could use your eyes again!”

“I don't wanna fail...” Bernadetta mumbled, continuing to try and aim despite her trembling hands. Linhardt put a hand on her, the Crest of Cethleann flaring up again as he examined her. “P-Professor asked me to do this...”

“Trust me, Teach would be a lot more upset over you getting hurt than a less-than-optimal performance,” Claude chided her, drawing again as Ashe ducked under an arrow shot and scrambled to his side. “Sit, catch your breath, we've got this at the moment.”

“You're not hurt, just exhausted.” Linhardt told her, patting the top of her head after giving her a quick look. “You're not the only one fatigued, by the way. Claude, I really don't know how you're still standing with a straight back despite the exhaustion I see in you.”

“Experience,” He responded with a shrug that he really hoped looked as dismissive as he wanted it to be, and strung up another arrow.

Byleth forced another assassin away from Edelgard, inadvertently leaving herself open to the man's partner. A sword cracked into the side of her temple, sending her sprawling to the ground. Before Claude could properly retort with an arrow, Dimitri shot across the room from a corner, grabbed the man's arm and threw him into the wall with no more effort than a little girl chucking a doll that had fallen out of favor. Linhardt threw out another Physic – he was _definitely _going gray in the face, Claude doubted he had much magic left to spare – which surrounded Byleth and erased the head injury she'd just taken. She rolled back to her feet very quickly, even considering the boosted healing properties that the Crest of Cethleann granted its holders, and called for Dimitri.

The prince had followed up his first attack by chasing the man to where he had fallen and violently spearing him through the neck. He didn't even seem to notice Byleth trying to get his attention until she called his name three times; then he turned around rapidly, his expression too distant to make out but relief and shame dripping from the way his shoulders sank.

Claude sucked in a sharp breath, startled by that sudden display of viciousness from Dimitri of all people...of course, he didn't get a chance to dwell on it. Ashe was trying to take out one of the four myrmidons surrounding Hilda and Balthus; he turned and added his support, catching one guy in the back of the leg and dropping him. Balthus let out a raucous cheer of thanks before punching one guy in the face so hard Claude heard a wince-inducing _crack _right before that myrmidon dropped like a stone. _Oh, geeze...in one punch, too. Those gauntlets must give him a magical strength modifier. _Hilda swept right along in her old friend's wake, smashing a mace into the stomach of one of the other myrmidons that had just moments before been giving her real trouble. The woman doubled over; the pinkette followed up the strike with a kick to the face that knocked her enemy to the side, dropping her sword. Balthus kicked the weapon back the way they'd entered...

...letting it get caught in the steel doors that had slid closed on their own, just like the previous ones.

“The doors closed on their own!” Edelgard yelled over the chaos. “Professor, we have to push through!”

“Constance, can you manage one more Bolting? Hapi, switch to Banshee!” The professor ordered before swinging the Creator's Sword forward in an unforgiving arc. The blade lit up with orange-golden flames so bright they illuminated the entire room; the thieves screamed and scattered from the hard wall of blades they had formed between the ragtag group in the door, forming two smaller gangs-

-one of which was promptly broken up by a vicious Bolting that killed two of its members. Claude shot down the warrior, Jeralt threw a discarded javelin through the neck of the assassin, and Hilda threw a hand ax she'd picked up somewhere at the archer. It smashed his bow, allowing Balthus to stomp forward and punch him into submission.

“C'mon, hurry,” Claude urged the others who had been keeping back with him – they needed to get closer to the door. He could hear Hapi unleashing the disorienting Banshee spell on the remaining group of mercenaries, so this was their best chance to cross some of that distance. He pulled Bernadetta to her feet. “It's just a little further!”

“R-Right,” She gasped out.

Ashe slung his bow over his shoulder and offered a swaying Linhardt his arm; leading their friends onward, they came out from behind the wall and rushed straight ahead. The room was a ransacked mess covered in bodies; Bernadetta tripped over a smoking armored knight with a mortified squeak. He helped her right herself and turned around to see a myrmidon charging right at them. Scowling, he took one of his last arrows, pushed Bernadetta behind him, and moved to meet him.

He ducked under the sword swing and – with a little help from his Crest – stabbed him in the lung with the arrow. He cringed at the gurgling noise the man made. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly before shoving him to the ground, “but I must.”

“Claude...” Bernadetta whimpered fearfully.

He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what she was looking at – and felt the blood drain out of his face when a familiar white light started to light up the back room. “You've gotta be kidding me,” He muttered before yelling, “TEACH!”

“I know!” She shouted back, her voice utterly raw. “Father!”

“Right!” Jeralt responded, charging down one of the remaining men. “Kids, go ahead! Go!” He waved sharply at Bernadetta, Ashe and Linhardt. “Go ahead!”

Claude gently pushed Bernadetta forward, urging her to go toward the door, and swung his bow off his shoulder. While Jeralt broke the sword of the man he was facing, he shot down the final assassin and stepped over him to offer a frazzled Constance a hand up. “C'mon,” He urged when the ground rocked beneath their feet from the impact of the magic lance. “Up you get.”

“Haha,” She panted, “Y-you have such a charming smile for a shameless troublemaker...” She grasped his wrist gratefully. “T-Thank you.” Claude decided to spare the sarcastic rejoinder in face of how gray she looked; he pulled her towards the door, noting with relief and approval that Dimitri was doing the same for Hapi. That just left Hilda, Balthus – oh, they were running up together, no worries there – Yuri, Jeralt and Teach.

White light flooded the hall. Claude saw Teach dart forward moments before she pushed him back into her father's arms. “Go,” she pleaded. Her eyes were glowing golden-green, and there was an odd echo in her voice. “What are you waiting for?” She spun around without giving him a chance to answer, growling “Now where is that last delinquent?”

“Teach!” He wasn't sure if he was protesting, yelling, or just trying to vocalize the fear bubbling up in his throat – because with Jeralt pulling him back in an iron grip, pulling him behind the line, the last two people out were -

Yuri became visible, slumped against the wall he'd been leaning against due to a bloody leg. Byleth was at his side in an instant, slinging his arm over her shoulder and tearing forward. The gates rattled and disintegrated under the white beam as the two hurried across the remainder of the hallway; the broken doll was just focusing on them as they crossed the threshold to join the others.

“We're here! And now...” Yuri limped over to the lever and threw it with a tortured grunt.

A more glorious sight Claude had never seen; when the gates slid closed, the golem froze still as a statue...and then burst into glimmering dust, vanishing into nothingness. They stood there in dumbfounded silence, all staring disbelievingly at the corpse-strewn hallway that had nearly been their grave, not quite comprehending that they had, in fact, survived.

Then Bernadetta started laughing. It was high pitched, squeaky and shaky, more hysterical than amused, but it was infectious; seconds later Claude started laughing himself, then Hilda, Ashe and Balthus all joined in. He felt his shoulders shaking as he laughed more uproariously than he had in a long while; they were all here. They had all survived that exercise in insanity with all their limbs in tact. They had made it.

“Run through this hall, open this door, open that door...” Linhardt blew out a long breath. “I've had enough doors to last me a lifetime. I'm overdue for some shuteye.” Edelgard was either too tired to reprimand him, or was sympathetic to her fellow classmate's perpetual exhaustion for the very first time, because she actually groaned in wordless agreement.

“That was...something,” Claude managed, his laughter finally abating a bit. “That was definitely something. Maybe Lysithea and Felix won't be totally pissed that they were left behind after all once we tell them about this...damn.”

“Kid?” Jeralt's worried voice drew his attention. The man was walking toward Teach, who was leaning over with her hands on her knees. “Kid...? You okay?”

“I...” She rasped...

...then choked, coughed with enough violence to shake her whole body, and vomited up blood.

Claude's heart stopped in his chest as Byleth fell to her knees, coughing and spitting blood as crackles of red light circled her body. “S-Sooothiiiss...” She gasped out, before crying out and vomiting another mouthful of blood. Her blood. Teach - was coughing up blood - !

“Teach!” “Professor!” “KID!” He couldn't tell which of them shouted the loudest. He couldn't remember moving either; one minute he was standing, the next he was on his knees next to his best friend as Jeralt pulled her head up into his lap as her body jerked and spasm while those red crackles of light flickered across her body again and again. A flicker of light turned into a scratchy version of the Crest of Flames before it winked out again; Byleth's eyes were wide and unseeing, she didn't even seem conscious.

“Kid! Kid! Damn it, what's going on?!”

“It's magical burnout...” Linhardt choked out, staring at her in horror. The Minor Crest of Cethleann was glowing above one shaky hand, telling them without a doubt that it was true. “She...she used so much magic she burned into her lifeforce...her body couldn't take the strain. It's breaking down under her. T-this kind of burnout...her heart...” He choked, shaking his head. “She...this could kill, even someone as strong as her.”

“B-But you can heal her, can't you?!” Edelgard demanded hotly. “You have the Crest of Cethleann! That's its whole purpose!”

“I'm a _minor! _Not a Major!” Linhardt shouted back, raising his voice for the first time...ever? Claude wasn't really paying attention. He felt like he was standing outside of his body, watching someone else attempt to hold his friend – the first person to ever call him her best friend – shudder and suffer and break down. “I can only sustain her, not fix this! And I can't do it indefinitely; I'm so exhausted that trying will make me pass out right under her!”

“Move,” Yuri's voice whispered somewhere next to him. He couldn't really oblige; his body was frozen. Teach couldn't die.

She couldn't die here right in front of him while he sat there helplessly. She couldn't leave his life as suddenly as she'd entered it. “Move over,” Yuri urged again, reaching past him and unbuckling something from her belt. Claude belatedly realized that it was the Chalice of Beginnings. “She's not out of options yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, confession time! When I played this chapter blind for the first time, it kicked my ass multiple times. It took me an embarrassingly long time to get past the FIRST GATE, and even then I hit a game over trying to get past all those mercenaries on my way to the third gate. Needless to say, Byleth ended up using Divine Pulse a lot, and I had a lot of frantic energy both playing that level and writing this chapter. 
> 
> Playing the level was much more fun the second time around; writing the chapter was fun from the start. Though can I just say that golems suck and are the worst damned enemies in the game? I think I might hate them more than enemy war masters - and that's saying something.
> 
> Also, have another cliffhanger. I'd forgotten how fun those are!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth hears people speaking to her while she slept, takes care of some beasts, and finally tells her students/friends about her secret abilities.

Byleth lay curled up at the foot of Sothis's throne drifting in a sea of pain.

Sothis's fingers carded through her hair, humming a soft, slow song. The child spirit was cradling her head in her lap and doing her best to comfort her. Her touch was cool and mysterious; it felt like she was simultaneously tracing the top of her head while also passing through it, sending soft comfort throughout her whole being...soothing the pain that wracked her in random bolts.

“In times flow...see the glow of flames ever burning bright...” Her friend whispered sweetly, gently trailing her fingers along the edge of her cheek. “On the swift river's drift, broken memories alike...” Byleth shuddered from another stab of agony sank in; her vision was hazy, and she could only truly focus on Sothis's voice and touch.

Her father could appreciate a good song, but he had no proclivity or desire to sing himself. Falrie had sung to her a number of times, especially when she was younger, but it wasn't the same as what her mother might have done; it wasn't the same as what was sung to her now.

Sothis sang to her like a priestess in the choir during mass. It soothed her soul, rocking her into a fitful state as close to comfort as possible in this state. Even as Byleth struggled to breathe around the pain in her chest she leaned into that comfort...that security. Within it, the pain felt distant.

“Whatever comes, I am with you,” Sothis whispered as she wound the song to a close. “I will hold you up. You will never be alone.” She stroked Byleth's hair again, gently settling her hand on the curve of her shoulder. “Be at peace...they are fighting for you.”

_They?, _Byleth wondered through the haze of pain.

The room holding the throne was completely black except for the green aura radiating off of Sothis and the seat and stairs upon which she rested. It was cold, too; the only warmth came from her spirit friend. Her body ached, hurt, and she felt as if her entire body was suffering from ice burn...both cold yet scalding. Cool streaks were drawn down her face...was she crying...? She squeezed her eyes shut, felt the water welling up at the edges. The feeling was so strange... She had been in great pain before, but it had never been like this. She'd never felt it so keenly.

_They're...all safe, then? I managed...to get them all out...?_

“Yes.” Sothis sighed. “I wish that it hadn't taken everything you had, that you needed to court death. Even when I took over your body, I couldn't do as much as I wished to without destroying you.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry.”

_No...don't be. I couldn't...have done this without you... _Byleth trembled as she leaned into her hand. _W...what happens...to me now...? Am I dying...?_

“Your body is breaking down. Because of that, you are here in this place with me...at least for now. I am not sure what will happen within the next...” Sothis frowned thoughtfully, then blinked. “Hm...? What is this?”

Then...then there was a flicker of light. Directly above her. Byleth saw it shining down from above her head; she slowly blinked her eyes open and tilted her head, looking through the blurry haze up at the golden star. Sothis started to hum again, and this time Byleth could hear pleased confidence underneath the soothing tones of her song.

“_...blood given freely, your loving children offer in tribute...” _

...That...was Yuri's voice...? That's right...no, wait... it wasn't just him...Constance...Balthus...Hapi...?

“_...restore her body and soul, by your will...” _

The light grew brighter, expanding from a single mote to a large open window. The light reached down, chasing all the shadows away. Byleth felt it bathe her skin, and – incredibly – the pain that had been her whole world for an indefinite amount of time began to slowly receded.

“...I've heard this once before,” Sothis mused, looking up. “It was a long time ago...and it came from so far away, I couldn't respond to it. This is quite different...” She reached up with one hand, letting the light splash over her fingers. “...This is life. I wonder how...? Ah. Ah, so that's what they did.”

_...What? _Byleth thought. She reached a numb hand up toward the light, absorbing its warmth into her arm, as if hoping to snag the arm of one person she could hear chanting all around her. The pain was going away faster now, draining away faster and faster by the second, and her arm shook purely out of a far more peaceful sensation of exhaustion.

“It seems your students are willing to bleed for you in turn,” Sothis said; then she kissed Byleth on the forehead. “Sleep, By. Sleep and recover your strength. Unless I miss my guess, you'll be needing it soon enough.”

_...Will you...stay with me while I sleep...? _

“Of course, silly girl. You ought to know that I am always with you now.” Sothis stroked her hair again and returned to her singing as the warm light engulfed the entire room, throne and all. Byleth's vision faded to white, and she floated upward as though lifted by the wind.

* * *

“...”

Byleth twitched a bit at the distant sensation of someone touching her hand. She was too sleepy to raise her head or even open her eyes to acknowledge them. The blackness that lay over her like a heavy blanket abated ever so slightly, giving her an edge of consciousness.

“Hey kid,” Her father murmured. His calloused hand cupped the side of her face exposed just above the silken blankets wrapped around her. “Finally got the color back in your cheeks, I see. Good...that's good.” She heard a chair creaking. “I saw Lerac and the others activate the Chalice and pour life into you with my own eyes, yet I still couldn't help but worry...”

He sighed. “C'mon, kid...have mercy on your old man, would you? You took ten years off my life when you started hacking up blood like that.” His thumb brushed along her cheek. “Maybe it's my fault; I'm too used to you handling yourself without trouble. Too used to just letting you take care of things instead of being as attentive as possible.”

_Father, no. You've done nothing wrong, _she tried to protest, but her tongue was too heavy; she couldn't muster up the energy to form the words.

“I worry a lot about you, you know.” Jeralt murmured. His voice floated though the darkness around her, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. “I'm not good at showing it. I've never been very good with my emotions. Sitri made it easy when I was with her...I think – I wish that she had lived. I wish that she could have watched you grow up; she could have helped me be a better father to you. She could have done more for you.”

He brushed a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I hate that I can't do anything for you right now. Your little friend Flayn came in to see you; apparently, her bloodline descends from Cethleann, same as Hevring. She says the Chalice healed you perfectly; that now you just need some time to rest.” He let out a shaky sigh. “She adores you so much I'm inclined to believe her...but it's hard when you're lying here still as a corpse. I can see you breathing, but...”

There's a few moments of long silence; Byleth tried to move, to comfort him somehow; she heard him take in a ragged breath. “Oh, kid...what am I going to do?” He whispered. “What you did back there – how you did it, I don't know, but I think I know _why _you were able to do it. There's so much I should have told you a long time ago.”

_...I always knew that. I don't resent you, father. I've never resented you..._

She felt a gentle kiss on her forehead, then her father patting her hand. He said something else, but his voice came from further and further away as she sank back into the darkness, drifting away into the black void as she fell back into a deep sleep.

Her dreams were confusing and fractured, images of moments she'd lived through during that terrible mad dash back to safety. Of one wrong step condemning the people, her friends, who had somehow lit a fire in her frozen heart, to sudden, violent and terrible deaths. The sight of Dimitri being burned to ash by a magic lance from the golem...Ashe falling to the ground and being skewered by several human constructs at once...Constance shot dead by an archer as she desperately tried to reach the final doorway...Claude and Balthus being overwhelmed and cut down by knights...

Even when she erased those possibilities and saved them from those moments, the images were burned into her memory. They haunted her until she fell so deeply asleep her mind could not be troubled.

* * *

“...”

At first she thought the sound of the door creaking open was background noise in one of her fragmented dreams. However, the following squeaking of the floorboards was a bit too distinct, and when they came to a stop...there was a pause – a hesitation – before an audible, deep intake of breath nearby.

“...P-Professor? Um...c-can you hear m-me?”

Bernadetta's timid voice voice rippled through the blanket of sleep surrounding her. Byleth tried to raise her head or at least open her eyes, but once again it was no good. She heard feet shuffling on the ground. “...Um...L-Linhardt says that sometimes, when people are unconscious, they can hear you when you talk to them. Professor Manuela said, um, s-said that she talks to her patients, so I hope...well, I r-really just want to d-do something for you.”

There was another pause, followed by the chair creaking as her diminutive student sat in it. “Watching the Chalice awaken and pour life energy into you...it was...I've never seen anything like it. It was an actual miracle, right out of the scriptures.” The floorboards creak again. Bernadetta's breath came out in shaky breaths. “My Crest was singing when the power from the artifact washed over us...I'd never really thought of it that way, but my ancestor was Indech, Saint Serios's beloved friend. Did the Chalice recognize Indech's blood in me? Was the magic of the goddess reacting to me? Me...stupid, weak, pathetic little Bernie...recognized by an artifact of the goddess?”

_Stop it. You're not any of those things._

Byleth felt two soft hands clasp hers. “You say that I'm strong, professor.” She whispered. “You keep saying that I'm strong, that I've got amazing sight, that I've got a good mind for strategy when I let myself be heard. You say all of these kind things about me, and I – I haven't really believed it. Not yet. Not...”

The grip tightened. “I think you believe it. T-that's why...w-why you w-were willing to d-d-d-” A burst of sobs cuts off her sentence. Byleth twitched a bit, trying to move – to reach up and tug Bernadetta down, give her a hug. “O-Oh p-professor...!” There was a slight thump; she felt Bernadetta's forehead land against her arm as she bent over the side of the bed, shaking with the force of the girl's growing sobs.

_Bern...don't cry... I'm alright. I'm so sorry. I had to do it to save you... _Byleth tried to find the words that might comfort her friend; to explain that she didn't regret the choice she'd made to save her and the other students, but she _was_ sorry to cause her any harm in the process. She was so tired, though...she couldn't even lift her head.

“...I-I'm a plague on people who care about me...” Bernadetta whimpered through her tears. “I never had the courage to tell you what happened to my first friend. I didn't want to loose the way you looked at me, t-the way you al-always care about me and how I'm feeling.” She sniffled, hiccuped. “But I should have warned you. Micah cared about me, teased me...t-treated me a lot like Claude does now, a-actually...and father had him beaten to death. You care about me and protect me, m-more than my father and mother ever did, and now you too...”

Byleth focused all her might on the thought of moving just her fingers. To her relief, it worked – she could feel her hand tighten just a bit on Bernadetta's cool palm. The young girl gasped in shock. “P-Professor...!” A loud crack and the thud of feet on the ground suggested she'd jumped to her feet in hopeful excitement. “Ah, I sh-should go get Professor Manuela! I-I'll be right back!”

Footsteps rushed away from her, followed by the sound of the wooden door banging noisily against the wall. Byleth tried to sit up, but quickly found that she'd just spent what little energy she'd had in this semi-lucid state. Her eyelids were heavy; too heavy to open.

Silence reigned for a moment, before quiet, light footsteps broke it. Another person had come in, approaching her too softly to be Manuela. They stepped across the chair, leaving it where it lay, and came to a stop right next to her bed. Her visitor stood over her in silence for a few achingly long moments, then shuffled, moving slightly. The edge of her bed dipped under their elbows as he knelt by her side.

“You don't look much different, Professor,” Yuri's voice drifted by her ear. She turned her head slightly toward him; just a small movement. “Don't get me wrong, you look healthy now...and you're as beautiful as ever...but I'm not sure you've recovered that quickly. You were leaning against death's door back there...”

Soft but scarred fingers brushed along the line of her cheekbones. “Don't worry. I'll help Claude look after her until you wake up for real...I owe her an old story, anyway. Probably should have told her a few days ago to be honest.” His feather-light touch traveled down along her throat and lingered there against her pulse-point, feeling her soft, deep breaths. “You came back for me.”

Yuri snorted, and when he spoke again his voice was raw with incredulity. “You knew you were at the end of your rope in that moment. Whatever magic was granting you clairvoyance had to be failing by the time we managed to get into that chamber, yet you knew I was hurt, knew I couldn't run the last stretch. You knew going back for me could kill you and yet _you still did it_.”

His hand went back to the crown of her head; it felt almost reverent. “That was a damned fool thing to do over the likes of me. ...Why? Why did you care? What did you see in me that could possibly be worth dying over?” He exhaled shakily. This was the most raw and honest she had ever heard him, utterly lacking his usual practiced charm. “Tell me...please...”

_...I did it because I wanted to help you. Because your friends would suffer from loosing you. Because you fought alongside us and helped us despite being having reason not to trust us. Because your death would mean the loss of something irreplaceable in this world. Because...you were worth it. You are worth it._

Yuri took in a deep breath. “I've lived on the streets for most of my life...seen what people are capable of, what they do when they think no one's looking... learned how to see them for who they really are. But you blindsided me, damn it. Wake up, and tell me why a scum of the streets was so precious you were willing to die for him.”

_...Yuri..._

The beautiful, broken street rat sighed. “There's something I have to do – something I'm stuck in that I can't get out of without help. I'm fairly certain you're going to be hacked at me when you find out how I've gone about that this time, but I swear, I did ask him. It was indirect, yes, but I did ask, and he said yes.” His hand slipped away. “I'm grateful to you, I hope you know that. It's nice to find new friends; friends that don't have strings attached.”

“...Wake up soon, okay?”

Byleth slipped away again as the footsteps of two people running her way approached the door.

* * *

“...”

_I should really get up and go check on everyone...but I'm still so tired... _Byleth experimentally tried raising an arm. It was like trying to lift a mountain with her bare hands; after a few minutes of trying to think very hard about moving, she gave up, letting her mind settle on the softness of her bed and the warmth surrounding her from the blankets. _How long have I been here...? _

“Hey, Professor.”

It was Ashe's gentle tones that drifted through the mire of her partial consciousness this time. She heard the chair squeak again, then a heavy sigh. “I'm sorry, I can't stay very long...something's come up. Bishop Aelfric's disappeared.” _What? WHAT? _“Well...actually, Bishop Aelfric's been kidnapped.” _WHAT? Fucking goddess damn it, NOW? _“Yuri thinks there's a mole in Abyss who tipped off the mercenaries who fled from our previous attacks and regrouped. They kidnapped him while we were out searching for the Chalice; they want it in exchange for him.” _Of course they do...damn it, damn it, damn it..._

“Yuri and Claude have a plan.” Ashe said with the sort of confidence Byleth more often associated with the mercenaries when her father lead them into the beginning of a mission. “I don't know all the details, but they're clearly on the same page, and Claude...well, you'd know it better than me, but he's good at reading people. I'm both looking forward to the Battle of the Eagle and Lion while also dreading it.” He let out a tired chuckle. “Anyway, we're going out to rescue him. I think that'll make you pretty upset-” _Father, please tell me you're going with them. Of course I trust Claude, but if I can't be there and they're going to go anyway- _“-but we're going to be alright. We make a good team, and we're ready for anything.”

There was a pause. “...It's hard to see you like this, Professor.” Ashe admitted softly, his voice hitching. “After...after that day, I was a mess. You wouldn't let me fall apart, helped me find my footing again. The way you fuss and worry and keep an eye on me...well...” His voice cracked. “I've always been the oldest sibling, but when you're fretting, it's...it's like I have an older sister. That there's still someone here to guide me through a world I still don't know much about. You're a pillar of strength for me, for Bernadetta...for all of the Deer, I bet.”

He placed his hand on top of hers. “...So get better soon, okay? I'll bake something sweet, just for you. Mercedes has seen you slipping extra sponge cake at dinner, and I think I've got the recipe memorized now.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “We won't be gone long. Don't worry; we'll put all your teaching to good use.”

His footsteps retreated toward the exit; Byleth heard the door open followed by a startled yelp from three separate voices.

“O-Oh! Your highness – I mean, Dimitri. Claude, too. Has something happened?” Ashe asked quickly with a note of worry in his voice.

“No, nothing like that. Sorry for almost opening the door in your face there,” Claude's easy voice rolled over her like the wind through her hair. She tried to move, to open her eyes and see him (_to yell at him for taking a dangerous gamble while she wasn't there to help protect them-!_) but her lethargy continued to hold her prisoner. “We're just here to see Teach for a moment. Go and get lunch with the others; but don't forget to leave some for us!”

“We'll be there shortly,” Dimitri's voice added. His usual soft, friendly tones were there...but they were strained and tired, clearly a thin mask over something else.

“Haha...right, I'll see you there.” Ashe's footsteps faded away down the hall moments later.

There was a heavy pause. “Do you want me to wait outside?” Claude asked.

“What-? Claude, I will not bar you from seeing her-”

“Mitya. You look like you want to cry, scream, or both, and if you don't want me to see that, feel free to spontaneously remember something you forgot downstairs.”

“...I'm not ashamed of you seeing that I care about her. It's...it's fine, my friend.”

“Are you sure?” Claude sounded unusually hesitant. “I know you're kind of upset at me for some-”

“I'm not upset with you,” Dimitri cut him off abruptly, his tone suddenly quite tense. “It's none of my business, really. The only reason I would send you away is if I thought you would mock me for weeping over her...and I know you're not that kind of man.”

An awkward silence prevailed over them for a minute, before heavy footsteps approached her and came to a stop at her bedside. The chair creaked again as Dimitri sat in it; he made no move to touch her...was he just looking at her, lying pale and useless on the bed like some romance novel protagonist?

“...Byleth...” The prince took a shuddering breath. Something twisted horribly in her chest; she knew the sound that people made when they were swallowing down tears. She'd heard knights make that noise while on the job; had heard her fellow mercenaries make it when something terrible had happened outside of their control. “...Oh, _Byleth. _I hate this. I hate that you're the one lying there instead of me.”

_What...no, Dimitri. No! Why would you...? _

“Do you remember what I told you, about that night? About how Glenn chose to walk into the flames, bleeding and dying from arrow wounds, so I might live and escape with Gustav? He chose death with the same smile he always wore, that he gave Felix and I whenever we made him laugh.” Dimitri let out a raw, choked noise. “It wasn't...it wasn't just him. Knights I'd known since I was a child and men I only knew in passing...threw themselves onto swords to protect me...they all died so I could live, and why?” He swallowed hard. “The king is meant to protect the realm, but all I have to show is a mass grave of those who died in my place.”

“Mitya...” Had she ever heard Claude speak in such a soft way...so gentle and full of worry?

“Don't you understand?” Dimitri's voice cracked. “I cannot place you in that grave alongside them. I can't bear it. I would rather _die_ than watch another person bleed out for my sake.” A small sob cut him off for a moment; he took a shaky breath before continuing. “Whatever you did in those tunnels...I beg you speak of it as soon as you are able. I never want to put you in this position again.”

_T-That's...Dimitri...!_

Something Sothis said not too long ago rang harshly in her ears. _'Do you know what your death would do to those delinquents? To your father?' 'You are not expendable, Byleth Eisner'. _

Dimitri gently lifted her hand in his; her heart skipped and nearly stopped when she felt him kiss her fingers. Then he carefully put her arm down, stood from the chair and walked out of the room without a sound except a quiet word to Claude.

There was another uncertain silence after the door swung shut. Then Claude broke it with an uneasy, “I...think we need to start worrying about him, even as he protests to the contrary.” His footsteps were as quiet as Yuri's as he took Dimitri's place at her side. “Hey, Teach. You're looking better...I hope you wake up soon. It's damned boring out here without one of my favorite straight men.”

She wished she could smile. She wished she could wake up and make a dry observation that would, for some reason, cause him to burst out laughing. She wished she could somehow indicate that she was listening even as she slept.

“And I need to talk to you. Or, well, I want to talk to you, but I really _really _want to talk to you, so that counts as a need, right?” She heard the chair creak a bit. “Once I calmed down enough to string two coherent thoughts together, and really thought about it...you always know, don't you? When we fought the Black Beast, you always knew when someone was in danger; somehow you knew about the false wall before those guys could stick their head out, you tackled Felix and I out of the way of a spectacular impact, and I hadn't thought about it that way – figured you just had good instincts, or maybe it was something related to the Crest of Flames? Even the scriptures can't agree on what powers it gave its wielders.”

“Because you...you knew. Somehow, you knew whenever we were going to fall or even die and pulled us out of it. How could you know? I'm going mad over here, Teach, you've gotta wake up and tell me.”

_I...I will. I promise. _

There was another hesitant pause. Then Claude sighed. “I...I'm not even sure why I'm pretending to be fine. Old habits are hard to break, I guess.” Silence hung over them for a moment. “I hate this...I hate worrying so much. I hate how much you're on my mind, I hate that I can't control how I feel about you. Damn it!” The harshness in his voice startled her.

“It's not safe, not for me. It's never been safe.” His chuckle was strained. “You know, I keep wondering if you know. You keep mentioning your missions outside of Fodlan in class, snap at Lorenz and Hilda when they make ill-educated remarks, and I'm only half paying attention because I'm wondering if you're trying to tell me something.” His breathing was uneven, heavy. “What do these clerics call people like me? 'Heretical children?' 'Born beyond the eyes of the goddess?' Those same monks that preach about how precious life is would kill me in my sleep and call it fine work.”

_...Claude..._

“You're Rhea's favorite; she's clearly trying to groom you for something. I keep telling myself I should either drive a wedge there, or put more effort into tying us together for when you get that role. But I can't.” The bed dipped as he sat down next to her arm, placing one hand beside her head. “I've never had friends. People approached me either to kill me or get something out of me. I started using that to my advantage some time ago, because what's the point of trying to do anything else unless and until I start changing things?”

“Until you. Suddenly, you came into my life and casually turned everything I knew on its head. The hell was that for?” He laughed weakly. “I don't let people in close enough to call them my friends. It's one of the only ways I know how to protect myself.” His hand cupped her cheek. “But suddenly I have you. Aha...You frighten me with how much you make me want to keep you in my life.”

She leaned into his touch. She couldn't do much else.

“...You do scare me,” he said, all the heat draining out of his voice to leave only heavy regret. He didn't seem to notice her movement. “I don't think I'm the kind of man you see in me. I'm not really _good_, not like Mitya. But I want...” his breath hitched. “I...I don't know. I want...to be someone you admire.” He hesitated. “I want you to stay with me. Is that selfish?”

His fingers brushed along her cheek. “Wake up soon, Teach,” He whispered. A moment later, she felt his lips gently press against her forehead, and then he was gone.

* * *

When Byleth's eyes finally fluttered open, the light streaming through the open window nearly blinded her. She groaned quietly, shifting onto her side to shield her face a bit; and winced as she was immediately assaulted by pins and needles over almost her entire body. A gasp and the sound of a book slamming shut caused her to look up and see Lysithea sitting in the chair next to her, history book in hand and staring wide-eyed at her. “Professor?” The young white haired girl cried, startling Marianne – who'd fallen asleep in a kneeling position next to the bed, her arms and head resting on the mattress near Byleth's hip – so badly she fell backwards onto the floor.

“Lysithea?” Byleth asked blearily, pushing herself up by her elbows and staring at her youngest student in confusion. (Cyril, as it turned out, was older than her by two months. Lysithea was not pleased to discover this and even less pleased that she was unable to keep the information from Claude and the others.) “Marianne? What are you two doing here?”

“_What _am we _doing _here?” Lysithea parroted, shooting to her feet and nearly knocked the chair over again. Marianne, having gotten into a sitting position, managed to grab and right it at the last second. “Is that supposed to be a joke?! You disappear for _days, _no explanation, Sir Alois didn't even _try _to hide the fact you'd gone off without us, and then when you come back you're in a _coma _and that jerk Claude said he'd 'explain later' before rushing off to get into even more trouble without so much as a 'by-you-leave'! I had to grab Marianne, chase Ashe down and _sit on him _to find out what happened; you lot went on a dangerous mission _without us!_” The girl looked like she was about to explode.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Marianne said softly and sweetly, standing up and clasping her hands together. “We've all been so worried...”

“I'm sorry,” Byleth said automatically.

“You're _sorry?!_” Lysithea repeated hotly, flailing her arms in pure frustration. “It would have taken you ten minutes to come and wake me up. Ten minutes! I wasn't that far away! Why didn't you bring me into the tunnels with you?!”

“I just thought we were chasing a pantry thief at the time!” Byleth protested, swinging her legs onto the floor and wincing a bit as her legs protested the suddenness of the movement. “I assumed it would be a brief aside at best; I didn't want to go and wake you for something that trivial, and we didn't want to give him a large head start and loose track of him. By the time I found out what was actually going on, the problem demanded immediate attention – I didn't have the opportunity to come back and- gah!” She broke off and started coughing; it didn't hurt nearly as much, but her throat was still raw and dry and the force of it made her double over.

Marianne hurried and sat down by her side, placing her hands together. With a little flash of magic, an ice ball formed in her hands. Lysithea swiped the empty tall glass from the side table and held it out; Byleth watched in bemused surprise as Marianne placed the ball on the top of the glass and then took it from Lysithea while the latter snapped her fingers and summoned a small fireball. About a minute later, the ice was almost completely melted and Byleth drank several welcome mouthfuls of cold water. “Thank you,” She said softly.

Lysithea huffed, crossing her arms. “I'll forgive you once you tell us what's going on,” She grouched. “How could you go off into danger without us? Aren't we your students too? Did you not think we were up for it? Too young and weak to help?” The questions were snapped out in angry tone, but they held a heavy undercurrent of distress.

“_No,_” Byleth said firmly before standing up. She was delighted to realize immediately that she was in far better shape than she had any right to be – her muscles responded immediately, her legs didn't buckle, the only discomfort she felt was that which was typical to waking up from a drug-induced sleep. She put her hands on her student's shoulders. “No, Lysithea. You are a powerful, capable young woman and if I'd known what was waiting for us down there, I would have asked Hannah to bring you and the others down as well.”

“And us, I would hope,” Felix's voice startled her. The blue-haired boy was leaning against the doorway, eyeing her critically; either he'd been there the entire time or had walked up while she was speaking with her students without any of them noticing. An exasperated-looking Dedue was standing to his right.

“Yes,” Byleth responded with perfect sincerity a moment later after she recovered. “Hello Felix, Dedue, good to see you; where are Claude and Dimitri?”

“Far as I can tell they went out behind the monastery, near an old chapel.” Felix responded with a frown. “That's where the ransom note demanded they meet to exchange the Chalice for that bishop. Also, half of the 'mercenaries' lingering around that back area? They're rank-and-file Imperial soldiers who left their metals at home.”

“Fuck,” Byleth muttered, rubbing her forehead with two fingers as she rolled that revelation around in her mind. “That's a problem. That's a big fucking problem; that could turn this into an international incident.” She looked back and forth and was relieved to see the Sword of the Creator lying innocently against the head of her bed. “I really hope Edelgard has a plan for what to do about that...”

Taking a deep breath, she turned around to face Dedue. “Dedue, I'm really sorry I had Dimitri accompany my into the tunnels without a word being sent back to you and the others. I imagine you've been very worried.”

“I was,” The tall young man rumbled, “though knowing you were with him eased my mind to an extent. I know you well enough to understand you would not let any harm befall His Highness without a fight.”

“...Oh,” Byleth responded dumbly, an incredibly warm feeling rushing up in her chest.

“Um...Professor?” Marianne voiced hesitantly. She turned towards her quietest student, who smiled shyly at her. “I'm glad you're alright.” Having said that, the budding bishop wrapped her arms around her chest. “But...you're going to go out and find Claude and the others, aren't you?”

“Mmm...it may be ill-advised, but yes,” Byleth said, picking up the Sword of the Creator and turning it over in her hands. She felt surprisingly good; perfect, even – it was as if nothing had happened to her down in the tunnels. Past experience told her that shouldn't be possible, yet she felt fine. “As good as Claude is becoming at managing the battlefield, I don't want them getting into a bloody free-for-all without me being there.”

“Guh!” Lysithea thew her hands in the air. “I have no idea why I expected you to say anything else.” Then the white haired girl dropped her arms and put her hands on her hips. “Fine, but we're going with you this time. I still need to give Claude a piece of my mind, and if any of those drunk imperial goons get in my way they're going to regret it!”

Dedue nodded sagely and revealed that he was wearing steel gauntlets on both hands. “I will stay near you, Professor,” He told her. “In case you need to rest or retreat before we find His Highness.”

“Good,” Felix said, snorting. “I thought my blade was going to go thirsty again, but if you're going to watch her, I'll go ahead. Not that the boar will need much help.”

_You...were planning to guard me from the start? _“Why do you call him that?” was what Byleth said instead, though the question was something that had been nagging her for a quite some time. What could Dimitri – kind, princely, compassionate Dimitri – have possibly done to deserve a demeaning nickname like that?

Felix gave her a flat look very much in contrast with the raging emotion blazing in the depths of his dark eyes. “Ask him yourself,” He responded enigmatically, pushing himself off the wall with one foot. “Let's get going.”

“I...will come too,” Marianne said, visibly squaring her shoulders back a bit. “S-Shall we, professor?”

Byleth looked around, finding herself facing a solid wall of conviction, and nodded firmly. “Alright; let's hurry and find your captains.”

Lysithea grinned like a shark, and she was right on Byleth's heels as the young Ashen Demon strode through the doors of the long infirmary and down the stairwell. The others are not far behind. Byleth heard Sothis humming in the back of her mind again; the distant presence of her spirit friend lifted her spirits, pushing back her worries about her body potentially giving out with little warning.

Clerics and servants alike let out startled yelps and noises as Byleth exploded out of the stairwell and into the hallway; a voices called, 'Professor, you're awake!' She nodded distractedly in their general direction as she looked back and forth, gauging which hallway she was in and therefore which way would take her to the back of the monastery fastest. Lysithea grasped her arm and pulled her southward, murmuring 'this way'; Byleth, trusting her judgment, followed. Dedue urged Marianne to run a little faster with one hand on her shoulder; she picked up her skirts a bit in order to give herself a little more movement.

_Everyone, hang in there... _Byleth thought determinedly. _We'll be right with you. _

* * *

The first sign that the fight was going sideways – though for who, Byleth couldn't quite determine at this angle – was the screeching of a massive bird.

Byleth had seen a number of demonic beasts before that night at Conand Tower; of course, previously they had been directly commissioned to slay the monsters and her father knew a great number of tricks to get around their powerful blows and mysterious magical defenses. She recognized the scream of a Sky Demon from memory; she redoubled her pace after hissing a warning to her other students as they made their way across the grasslands toward the old ruins. The bird came into focus quickly; it was circling over the chapel and its surrounding ruins, screeching and flapping its wings violently, dislodging deadly sharp feathers and sending them to the ground with the force only ballistics could hope to match.

Arrows whipped through the air up toward it, many missing but some hitting; the bird fell half a dozen feet before balancing itself again. Panicked shouting grew more and more coherent as Byleth and the others drew closer to the ruins; the ground shook beneath their feet once, then twice, and amist the screams they heard howling as well. _A wolf? No, two wolves. At least I think it's just two...I _hope _it's two._

_I wonder if this is that girl's Hapi's work, _Sothis mused. _I cannot imagine these creatures linger near the monastery under most circumstances. _

_Makes sense, _Byleth thought with a rush of both admiration for Yuri and Claude's audacity and frustration over such a reckless maneuver. _It would buy them some breathing room at least; let's take stock of the battlefield and make a plan._

_Of course. But Byleth, please bear in mind – I would not try and rely on Divine Pulse so soon after burning yourself out the way you did. So choose each of your moves carefully. _

_Right, _Byleth agreed, her stomach rolling uneasily for a moment before she pushed the sensation down. She was the Ashen Demon. She had fought hundreds of battles alongside the company before Sothis bestowed the Divine Pulse upon her. She would force her way through these enemies, find her students, and demolish anyone who posed a threat to them.

The small group came to a stop behind a tree at the mouth of the ruin's entrance.

There were two scattered 'groups' of what had to be the enemy mercenaries, (they were dressed in black, none looked familiar, and many had some symbol of Adrestia on their garments) frantically trying to bring down a pair of savage wolves that, while visibly injured, were clearly enraged and not going down without a fight. There were dozens of corpses scattered in every direction with varying vomit-inducing death wounds induced by the massive creatures. Six or seven people, many of them archers, were chipping away at the beasts, focusing on them so completely that they'd either completely forgotten about Balthus, or they knew they couldn't afford to pay him any mind.

Byleth let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the self-proclaimed King of Grappling dancing around three opponents and beating them into submission. It wasn't a good sign that he was over here all by himself, but the fact that he wasn't visibly injured suggested it was intentional. She jerked her head toward him and lead the way, keeping to the trees and greenry to avoid being spotted by the wolves or the mercenaries.

One of Balthus's opponents swung a sword at him, missed, and then spun around so he was facing the young man head on...and, unfortunately for him, standing with his back to a completely new threat. Needless to say, Lysithea's Miasma spell hit him square in the base of his spine, dropping him like a broken marionette. Marianne took advantage of the resultant surprise to fire Thoron at the second man, while Byleth darted forward quick as a snake and stabbed the final man through his ribs. She dragged him off of Balthus's back as he went limp and shoved the body aside, quickly eyeing Balthus's long coat for bloodstains and cuts. Fortunately, aside from some painful-looking clawmarks Marianne could fix up right away, he seemed just fine-

“Prof!” Balthus cheered. To Byleth's shock, he immediately slung one arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a quick but tight hug. “Boy, am I glad to see you awake; but are you sure you should be out here?” He backed up a step and gave her a quick but critical look. “You look pretty good, though. I guess the Chalice really does work as advertised.”

“I feel fine,” Byleth said quickly. Marianne hurried forward and cast Heal on his arms, earning herself Balthus's most charming smile in response. “How are you? Where are the others?”

“Don't worry about me; I've had worse.” Balthus cracked his neck before becoming serious and pointing to the back of the ruins, much closer to the chapel. “Negotiations went sideways, and the bird dragged me over here; long story, but the others have Aelfric and they're probably in a defensive formation by the chapel, or carrying out whatever crazy plan Yuri and Claude could bang out since I last saw them.”

“Can Riegan truly-” Dedue started to say before being cut off by a violent crash of lightning in the middle of a clear-skied day. Bolting smashed through a raised platform on the left not too far from them, turning the person (an archer? It happened too quickly for her to be sure) standing on it to ash and collapsing the entire structure; dropping dozens of massive stone chunks on those unfortunate enough to be standing around its base. Byleth, Marianne and Lysithea all flinched at the chopped-off screaming coming from that direction. “-I see.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “None of us should be surprised by Riegan's tactics or his ruthless streak by this point. Let's get going.”

“Oi, at least give the Prof a sec to let me know who I'm fighting alongside!” Balthus complained. He smiled brightly and looked at the girls. “Hmm...going by how pretty and dignified you look, you must be Marianne...and that makes _you _the kid who can curb-stomp any mage dumb enough to give you lip, am I right?” He pointed two fingers at her youngest student.

Lysithea's face scrunched up, visibly warring between outrage at being called a child and satisfaction at his respect for her abilities; all the while poor Marianne ducked her head and blushed fiercely. Balthus then turned toward Felix and Dedue, looked thoughtfully at them for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Wait, I know who _you _are_ – _you're the grumpy one who takes himself way too seriously!”

“You're hilarious,” Felix grated, glaring at Balthus with a ferocity that would terrify most sane men. The king of grappling, however, fazed in the slightest by it. Actually, he smiled in a way that made it clear he thought the irate swordsman was kind of adorable. _...Well, I knew from the start he was missing a screw or two up there, _Byleth thought bemusedly. “Are we going to stand around all day or are we going to help the others with this mess?!”

Balthus laughed easily before turning his attention back to Byleth; his smile turned into a smirk. “What's the plan, Professor?”

She bit her lower lip thoughtfully and glanced over her shoulder. The dwindling party of Imperial Mercenaries was still struggling with the demonic beasts; they'd brought one of the wolves down, but the bird was still circling overhead and the other wolf bit an archer in half before throwing the remains at one of the knights to knock him from his horse. Seeing as both sides were still preoccupied, she nodded to herself and pointed her sword along the narrow passageway toward where the Bolting had come down. As much as she wanted to go immediately and link up with Claude, Dimitri and the others, she was also well aware that the bird and the wolf would become wild cards the moment they ran out of mercenaries to kill. Besides that, there was clearly an extra force camping out in the relative safety of a stone corner. If the others came down thinking the coast was clear only to be blindsided... “I really wish I had my bow right about now,” She said ruefully, looking up toward the bird as it readied itself for a dive. “Alright, we're going to finish cleaning up over here.” Another bolting shook the ground violently. “I'm trusting that Father, Claude and the others have their half of the field under control.” _I have enough magic to go back a ways once if I'm wrong about that... _“Lysithea, Marianne, you two try and bring that bird down. It's flagging, so a few well-aimed shots should do it. Once you've got, stick near Dedue and Balthus, take down anyone who tries to start something.” The girls nodded and darted forward under a heavy tree, Lysithea pointing one hand toward the sky. “We're rather short on long-range options outside of you...Balthus,” she turned toward the brawler, “what was that thing you did back in the tunnels? Ashe and Bernadetta were being approached and you somehow shot a magic bolt out of your gauntlets.”

“Oh, that?” Balthus grinned and knocked his gauntlets together. “That was Pneuma Gale, my personally created combat arte; _perfect _for catching people off guard. No one _ever _expects magic from a brawler.”

“I see,” Byleth breathed out, impressed; her estimation of his scholastic intelligence rose drastically. “Then punch a few of those guys-” She pointed to the mages and knights still trying to bring down the wolf, “-in the back of the head, will you? Dedue, use your discretion, and keep one eye out for the girls. Felix, do you remember when we fought the black beast in Conand Tower?”

Felix drew his sword, dark eyes dancing in anticipation. “Like it was yesterday.”

“Good.” She rolled her shoulder. “I'm about to pull a Claude; let's see if the two of us can finish it off together in one swoop. Ready?”

The young swordsman bared his teeth. “Always.”

“'Pull a Claude'?” Balthus repeated in confusion that quickly turned into surprise when Byleth took off with Felix at her side, heading straight towards the wolf. “You've gotta be kidding me – Prof, you just woke up!” When she gave no sign of hearing him, he quickly raised his fists and summoned magic into them. “Geez, and Yuri calls me crazy! She just woke up from a coma!” He threw a punch forward; the golden blast crossed several yards of ground before slamming into the back of an archer. It dropped the man instantly.

Marianne followed Lysithea's hand, let out a shaky breath, and then threw Blizzard skyward. The Sky Demon was cycling toward the ground; the ice slammed into its wing, freezing the feathers and sending it spiraling to the ground. The massive crash when the bird fell to the ground with an unearthly scream not far from them was like thunder; Lysithea braced herself on the shaking ground, white magic curling around her fingers, and with a cry of “Seraphim!”, threw the purifying spell that blasted the demonic creature into ashes. The white haired girl grinned, waved at Dedue a few yards ahead of them, and nodded rapidly at her companion.

Byleth knew this had happened from the reverberations in the ground; another blast of Pneuma Gale dropped the mage to her direct right, parting the handful of soldiers in front of the wolf, giving her full access to its head. _Here goes, _she thought, taking a sharp breath before swinging the Sword of the Creator in a sideways arc – aiming directly for the eyes.

The wolf had begun to rush forward – probably intending to pound these final tiny annoyances into the ground beneath its human child-sized paws – but its head was bent low enough that the divine blade slashed out eye out; the edge of the sword keeps going, missing the second but cutting a deep wound above its other eye, leaving blood draining from it and clouding the creature's vision. It scrambled to a halt, its forepaws crashing into two horses making them rear back and throw their mounts.

Felix ran forward and slammed the hilt of his sword against the remaining horse's flank, causing it to flee in a frantic gallop taking its rider with it. Without pause the blue haired swordsman spun around and dodged a Hero's slice at his side, parried, and crashed his sword through the enemy's weapon and plate armor with the flare of the Fraldarius Crest. Byleth ran forward unopposed and jumped forward, leaping onto the wolf's muzzle. Jabbing her relic into the space between its eyes (grabbing on with both hands so the wolf jerking backward in pain didn't send her flying), Byleth leveraged her way up over its head and planted her feet on the back of its neck. Yanking her sword free and bringing it to her side as she turned around, she surveyed with grim satisfaction that the mercenaries had broken the magic barrier for her. “Allow me to demonstrate,” She proclaimed with a chilly calm she no longer truly felt and let the firey power of the Creator's Sword run wild as she unleashed it on the wolf's neck.

It sliced into the neck and through down to the bone even more easily than it had against Miklan's Black Beast form. The wolf's screech was cut off into a gurgle as the sword passed through its throat; it toppled to the ground, Byleth leaping from its back onto the ground. Without pause she brought it up again, blocking another hero's sword and knocking it aside before kicking the enemy in the stomach. She speared him through the shoulder, then, leaving him on the ground. _If he wears Imperial colors, Edelgard should know what to do with him, _she decided.

Felix seemed to have been of a similar mind; aside from two men who had bled to death, the other three of his enemies were sprawled about in various states of paralyzing injury. He nodded at her when she stepped over to him and Dedue, who had knocked aside the last archer who was still a threat. Lysithea blasted a hero who had run down the passageway between the stone ruins toward them, knocking him flat. Marianne's hands glowed with blue energy as she looked over the corpse of the wolf beast as it dissolved down to teeth, claw and bones.

“Everyone alright?” Byleth asked as she turned her head down the narrow 'passageway' that opened out to the far end of the field, where the chapel stood and where a colorful crowd was standing in a defensive circle – surrounded by still-twitching or still bodies frozen in death. There's movement there, the group turning towards them. A flash of purple bounced up and down, sunlight catching on an arrowhead as the figure waved her hand furiously above her head.

Byleth was startled by how fiercely she felt herself smiling; she waved back with the sort of cheer Hilda so often displayed before turning to the side again, looking at the final group of enemies remaining. “I'll go let them know we're cleaning up down here,” Balthus promised before taking off.

“Be careful!” She called after him.

“You got it, mother!” He yelled back cheekily. Byleth felt herself blush hotly and silently swore vengeance on him. How and in what form, she wasn't sure, but it would be comprehensive.

Back to the problem at hand...There were three armored knights, a mage, and an assassin. Byleth rolled her shoulders and glanced over at Felix, then Lysithea. “I think we know what to do,” The young Fraldarius said with a surprisingly easy grin, by his standards.

Byleth felt a warm spark of pride when Lysithea and Marianne darted forward, magic at the ready. Then she darted after them, sword at the ready.

Lysithea's fireball sent one knight fleeing – clearly deciding that whatever he was supposedly being paid for that, it wasn't nearly enough to face the 'mere schoolchildren' who had fended off a force several times their size. Felix cut through the second one's armor, while Marianne's Blizzard jammed the joints of the third's armor, causing him to fall harmlessly to the ground.

The assassin ran in a blur out of the corner, his sword aimed at Lysithea's chest. Dedue was in front of her in an instant, letting Byleth swing the Creator's Sword so it wrapped around the blade and yanked it out of the man's hand, all in two fluid movements. The man yelped at finding himself suddenly disarmed. Lysithea promptly popped out from behind Dedue and threw another fireball at him; deliberately holding back, clearly, since the impact merely knocked him over and singed him rather than setting him on fire as Byleth had partially expected.

“Ah, w-wait! NO! I surrender!” The man babbled, throwing his arms up defensively. “Y-You cannot kill a man of the Empire on holy grounds! It would be blasphemy!”

“You clearly aren't very troubled by that, since you were preparing to kill a bishop here if your demands weren't met. Planned to kill _my students _here even if your demands were met,” Byleth growled, stalking towards him with anger pooling in her gut.

“I was only doing what I was paid for, what I was ordered to!” The man wailed, rolling over and prostrating himself at her feet. “I lack a crest and needed a way to make my name known, so I took the first high-paying job that was offered to me! I thought I could just _scare _the students into submission, I would never murder children, never!”

_This is pathetic, _Sothis said incredulously. _He's putting on a performance; the whole thing's artificial. _

Byleth nodded silently. This wasn't the first time she'd seen an enemy attempt to slip through their fingers by putting on a persona of a halpless conscript or desperate individual; granted, she'd previously relied on her father to catch them, but now she could hear the false echo in the words herself. _I should bring him to Lady Rhea and Bishop Seteth; the mercenaries are little different from random brigand lowlifes, but if he's a noble of the Empire, no matter how minor... _Then his capture was potentially explosive, and more than she was equipped to handle. “Can you tie him up, Dedue?”

“Of course, Professor,” The young man replied with the hint of an amused smile.

“No!” The man shouted, scrambling backwards, crawling on the ground as Dedue stepped toward him. “I am a noble! You cannot hand me over to that filthy, illiterate foreigner! Keep your hands off of me, you mutt!”

“Oh, shove that up your ass, you pathetic bootlicker!” Lysithea barked out, her hands balling up. “Marianne, Silence him!”

Marianne contemplated the spitfire's order for a moment, then raised one hand with a very unusually cold and contemptuous look in her eyes. The man's shrieking died with an amusing abruptness as a green veil of light surrounded him, formed a circle that locked together and then vanished. His lips were still forming words, but no sound left his mouth. “That is no way to speak to your fellow man,” The blue haired girl said with a flatness more akin to Leonie or Ingrid than her normal self. “You disgrace yourself before the goddess.”

Dedue turned slightly and gave both girls a look that wavered between confusion and gratitude. Marianne responded to this with a supportive, warm smile, while Lysithea planted her hands on her hips and tossed her head back in scorn of their beaten opponent.

It was honestly amusing to see how easily Dedue forced the assassin's hands behind his back and bound him tightly with rough twine that Felix had produced from one of the horses that was wandering about, confused without a rider.

As they did this, Byleth glanced back to where the others were, wondering if they were still tying up and subduing the last of their opponents, and saw multiple flashes of light. It was Warp, unmistakably. A flash of alarm ran through her stomach. Unless Yuri knew Warp – and why would he need to use it right now – something was going on that she had missed taking out the remains of the mercenaries. “Oh no,” She muttered, spinning around.

“Oh no?” Lysithea repeated, concerned.

“...One of you, make sure he stays put,” Byleth said quickly before running from her position and making her way toward the back of the field where the chapel awaited.

She darted in between corpses, bunches of tied up mercenaries, and jumped over the bones of a Sky Demon before rounding the corner and finding her students standing in a rough circle around Claude. None of them seemed hurt, thank goodness, but neither the Ashen Wolves nor Aelfric were anywhere to be seen...nor was her father.

“Professor!” Bernadetta yelled. A purple blur hurtled towards her as she skidded to a halt not far away; Byleth braced herself and caught the shorter girl in her arms as the latter did her level best to crush her ribs in a bear hug. “You're awake! What should we do? Aelfric is a traitor and he's got some sort of leverage over Yuri; they've kidnapped the other Ashen Wolves and Captain Jeralt!” Bernadetta babbled out. “Yuri told Claude to meet him tonight in the Holy Masoleum, so Aelfric must want to use the Chalice for something because he took it with him, but I don't know what he could possibly want or why he wanted Captain Jeralt to go with him and-”

“Ah, w-wait, what?” Byleth managed, blinking rapidly as she struggled to process this deluge of new information. “Aelfric was the traitor? But he was a hostage...”

“Supposedly,” Claude said; the others had rushed up and formed a circle around her. Hilda was all but vibrating on the spot and looked seconds away from imitating Bernadetta; Ashe was wobbly with relief, along with Linhardt, Edelgard looked relieved too, but it lay under a massive layer of indignation and anger (_probably at the stupidity of these particular subjects of hers..._) while Dimitri...Dimitri was gazing at her with such tender happiness and comfort it made her blood spike in ways she couldn't put it to words.

And Claude? Claude's mask of casual pleasure at the sight of her was so thin she could easily see the vibrant joy beneath it, burning in those emerald eyes. His gaze at her was so honest and genuinely sweet that her attempt to think about what she'd just learned was put in serious jeopardy. “Good to see you up and about, Teach,” he said softly. “Though you really should be resting. Burnout is...is nothing to trifle with.”

“I had to know you were all safe,” Byleth responded quietly. “And, truthfully, I'm in far better shape than I have any right to be.”

“The Wolves used the Chalice of Beginnings,” Edelgard said simply. Marianne gasped in shock; she, Lysithea, Dedue and Felix had come up behind them, Felix dragging their prisoner along behind them with all the dignity of a sack of bricks. “They put their blood into it; they had the Crests of the Apostles, each one of them. The Chalice activated, came to life, and poured life into you. You were falling apart, but once that light covered you...you were healed. It was like you'd never been hurt at all.” Edelgard shook her head. “Each of them had the necessary Crests. Each of them was descended from the Apostles who were so mysterious they had vanished from the church's history.”

“And Aelfric was the one who found each of them and brought them safely to Abyss,” Byleth said in slow comprehension. Something ice cold went slid down her spine. _I hadn't even suspected...not for one moment, when he was near. When he was around my friends. _

Claude nodded. “Yuri very deliberately mentioned the view from Garreg Mach's tallest tower when I talked to him yesterday. I ran up there at sunrise, and you want to guess what I found?” He scowled. “A woman with violet hair, locked up in a room guarded by a pair of brigands who tried to murder me when she cried out for help.”

“His mother?” Byleth said urgently. “Where is she now?”

Claude shook his head grimly. “Still up there. I drugged the two unconscious, but I didn't trust Aelfric not to have other people keeping an eye on her. However, on my way out here I casually let the two brigands slip to Seteth; if he hasn't gone and gotten her out of there by now, I'll eat my coat.”

She sighed in relief. Without leverage, Aelfric couldn't pit Yuri against them when they went to confront them. “What does Aelfric want the Chalice for?” She wondered. “He must want to resurrect someone, but he never mentioned any family...”

“We'll find out when we go and pin him to the wall,” Felix said with a cool confidence that helped her center herself a bit while her mind was whirling like mad. “Riegan, you said that Yuri is expecting you? Why would he tell you where to go if this Aelfric has him under his thumb?”

“Well, he _didn't _tell me outright,” Claude said with a wry smile, putting his hands behind his head. “He told me through an invitation to a secluded, romantic dinner. Anyone listening to us would have figured it was just him being him, with how much we've been bantering back and forth.”

“T-That's what that was?” Dimitri stuttered a bit, staring in shock at the brunette.

“How did you realize he was in trouble from him asking you out?” Ashe asked, wide-eyed. “I mean, hasn't he been,” he blushed a bit, “flirting with you for a while?”

Claude chuckled. “He's been flirting with all of us a bit,” he said. “He threw a few compliments you way too, didn't you notice?” Ashe's startled yelp informed him quite neatly that no, he hadn't. “I think he likes drawing people in. It'll take a special girl or boy to charm him so deeply he'll have them – and only them – for the rest of his life.” His expression quickly became serious again. “Anyway, we'll need to swing around to confirm his mother and any other figures involved have been moved to safety by Seteth before we go down.”

Byleth nodded in agreement. _What does Aelfric want with father, though? That's the part that confuses me the most right now... _

“But there's one other thing we need to understand before we head down to the next battle,” Claude said then, dropping his arms to his side and giving her a very serious look. “Your magic, Teach.”

Byleth blinked. “My...magic?” It took her a second to realize what he was referring too. “Oh...”

“'Oh,' indeed,” Claude said. “Look, Teach, I figure you've been keeping this to yourself for a reason, but I can't account for a danger to you in my plans if I don't know it exists. Back in those tunnels, you did things I had no idea you were capable of – that I didn't think people were capable of, period. You just...” He snapped his fingers. “You knew. Somehow, every time one of us was about to die, you knew, and you hauled us out of the way. I didn't notice it before now, but back there, you had such miraculous timing it couldn't be anything but magic.”

“Professor...” Dimitri started, then paused and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he gave her a very pleading look. “Byleth.” Her stomach did a backflip at the sound of her real name. “Please, talk to us. I-I cannot focus on fighting the enemy in front of me if I can't ignore the invisible enemy threatening you.”

“What are you talking about, boar?” Felix demanded, sounding a little unnerved. “The professor knows healing magic. How could healing magic-?”

“Professor...?” Lysithea hinged slightly. She had slowly gone from looking thoughtful to a little wide-eyed. Byleth wondered if she was remembering that moment in Conand Tower.

“...No, it's true.” Byleth said slowly, blowing out a long breath. She looked between her students, her friends; Hilda was standing on the tips of her toes, looking intently at her; Edelgard was watching her face closely with her arms crossed...Linhardt looked rapt, hopeful...Bernadetta had her hands clasped together uncertainly and Ashe had tilted his head slightly, clearly rethinking the previous mission they'd been on together.

“What is it?” Claude's eyes were calm, intent and curious. He seemed somewhere between fascination and something she couldn't quite pinpoint.

“...They weren't miraculous rescues. Not for me.” The words felt heavy in her throat. Awful, bloody images flashed before her eyes. “I saw each of you die in those moments. I lived through them.” She bit her bottom lip, then let out a breath. “Then I used a gift given to me by my ghostly friend to turn back the hands of time.”

Total silence met this declaration. Felix stared at her like she'd suddenly lost her mind; the others were in varying states of shock. Byleth swallowed and tapped her foot anxiously. _Keep going, _Sothis whispered, wrapping her comforting presence around her mind. “The day before I became your Professor, I became acquainted with a spirit who lives inside my body, though in hindsight I believe she's been with me all my life, just dormant until now. When I took you out to the valley, she was afraid for you, for your safety. So she gave me access to her powers, in particular an ability she calls Divine Pulse.” She let out a breath. “The ability to turn back time, as many times as I am able with this mortal body of mine.”

“Turn back time...” Dimitri repeated in quiet disbelief.

She nodded. “Until Conand Tower, I hadn't had a need for it...but that was the first time.” She glanced over at Felix. “I think you remember. The Black Beast's paw? It was going to smash you into the wall until I tackled you.”

Felix stared back at her, the blood slowly draining out of his face as he remembered. “That's impossible,” He blurted out. “A-a forest spirit couldn't give you that kind of power. A human ghost couldn't-wouldn't-” He shook his head violently. “None of the Crests have that kind of power. None of the relics.”

“Professor?” Bernadetta asked hesitantly. “W-What's the spirit's name?”

Byleth waited a moment until she felt her friend's permission. “It's Sothis,” She responded simply.

Dimitri's lance clattered to the ground, dropping from his numb fingers as he gaped at her. Claude's eyes widened to the size of plates while gasps erupted from Hilda and Linhardt and Ashe. Byleth looked between them, a shocked Edelgard, Marianne with her hands clapped over her mouth, Lysithea stumbling backwards into Dedue as she stared up at her friend. Uncertain what to make of the reactions, Byleth closed her eyes for a moment and then said, “But...you can ask her yourself. She's in here with me.”

She felt the Crest of Flames flowing through her, felt Sothis's presence engulfing her as her friend gently imposed her will on top of hers. She felt her hair flutter as the shimmering magical image was interposed over her and she took a mental step backwards, becoming like a ghost herself hovering outside her body which took on the look of Sothis.

“_My, my_,” Sothis said with a light chuckle, her voice so different from Byleth's own. “_It's a pleasure to finally be properly acquainted with my friend's darling delinquents. Please allow me introduce myself; I am Sothis, and I am also called 'The Beginning'.” _

Marianne squeaked; she was the first one to break out of her shock, taking a shaky step toward Sothis-in-Byleth's-body before falling to her knees and bowing her head in utter submission and humility. Dimitri followed her moments later, Ashe and then Bernadetta dropping to their knees next. Felix stood in paralyzed shock while Dedue regarded her in a distant sort of shock and awe. Linhardt and Lysithea both knelt as well, albeit in a more dignified manner than the others...leaving only Claude and Edelgard on their feet.

“_Oh, goodness!_” Sothis blurted, shaking her head. “_What on earth are all of you doing? Why do you kneel? There's no need for that! Stand up, all of you, please!_”

“F-F-Forgive me, gracious mother,” Marianne whispered. “But I am unworthy of looking upon you; my gracious, loving goddess of Fodlan.”

Byleth gaped.

_**W-What?! **_She and Sothis said near-simultaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (cheerfully) I've been looking forward to writing that scene for two chapters now! Everyone was so excited to see Byleth tell her friends about Sothis the scene came to shape in my mind with complete clarity. The next POV chapter, being Dimitri's, is going to be very interesting for me to write up. 
> 
> This map is fun to play, but I found that I was more interested in character interactions for this chapter than another long fight scene - especially since it would be hard to top the previous chase scene. So I put it partly in the background; hope that's alright.


	25. Chapter 25

Dimitri hadn't realized that it was possible for something to be so overwhelming, it would drown out the voices of his ghosts completely. Claude had been the source of a moment that came close, but he'd still seen Glenn smirking at him out of the corner of his eye, so it wasn't quite the same as the utter disbelief-induced white noise currently filling his mind. His hands were shaking a bit where he knelt, bowed before the goddess, afraid to meet her eyes and have all his inner sins exposed.

He had maintained – if only in the quiet of his own mind, knowing that some wouldn't take kindly to such an assertion from their prince – that while the goddess always watched over them, she was aloof; she would not reach down and offer her their hand no matter how much they wanted or needed it. _But now that very goddess stood before him, _having blessed Byleth with a gift that had directly saved his life on several occasions, speaking to him as if she were just the professor's old friend happy to be introduced to her new charges.

Surely if he looked her in the eyes she would immediately know this; know of his unworthy thoughts that disparaged her affection for her people.

“_W...what was that?_” Sothis asked slowly, bewilderment replacing the cheerful – almost cheeky – tone with which she'd introduced herself. “_The goddess? Is that what you just called me?_” She blinked rapidly down at Marianne, who was trembling worse than Dimitri himself.

“O...of course,” Marianne stuttered. Her fingers dug into the dirt and gravel in an effort to steady herself. “You are Sothis, the arbiter of all life...a-aren't you?”

“_That is...not a question I can answer,_” Sothis responded with an air of awkwardness. “_If only because I do not remember much of anything right now. I awoke within Byleth's body the night she met you three,_” Dimitri looked up through his bangs to see her nodding toward Claude, Edelgard and himself. “_without knowing why. Neither of us do._”

She then looked down at the shaking blue haired girl, frowned, took a few steps forward and knelt down. She placed her hands on Marianne's shoulders and gently lifted her up so they were facing each other...then carefully brushed a few loose strands behind her ear. Marianne froze stiff as a frightened rabbit at the touch. “_Come now, why are you shaking so?_” Sothis asked. “_I don't cut such a terrifying figure, do I?_”

Marainne shook her head convulsively. “N-N-No, of course not! It's just – I – I am unworthy. I am a sinner. I don't deserve your divine kindness...”

“_What sort of nonsense is that?_” Sothis responded with a small frown. “_You're a gentle, kind soul, Marianne. I've seen you helping Bernadetta, feeding and tending to the horses as though they were human children, and despite how exhausted you always seem, you're always ready and willing to help others._” She gently tapped one finger against the girl's nose. “_You ought to take pride in that; it's far more than some are capable of.” _

“...I...” Marianne shivered convulsively, biting her lip to the point of bleeding. Sothis's eyebrows tabled, and she dropped her fingers to the wound to heal it with a small flash of magic.

“_Don't cry,_” Sothis said softly; her eyes flashed and she sharply and wisely asked, “_You don't believe I would lie to you, do you?_”

“Ah...! N-No, never, I...”

“_Then be at peace.” _Sothis then gently but firmly lifted Marianne back to her feet. _“Oh, and know that Byleth is screaming roughly the same thing in my ear; I pass on the words that 'you are one of the sweetest and kindest person I know, and you deserve all the good this world had to offer'._”

Marianne squeezed her arms as if they were the only thing holding her up, slowly leaning forward and placing her head against Byleth/Sothis's shoulder. The goddess's smile was sweet, and she gently patted the back of her head. Then her eyes traveled over to Claude and lit up with a spark of definite mischief. “_Perhaps Claude could make us some tea? I have this odd memory of him promising to welcome me in the monastery with chamomile, snacks and his most charming smiles._”

Dimitri hesitantly stood up, keeping one eye on his friend as Claude blanched dramatically. “Ah! I mean, um...t-that's...right?” The brunette said with a very nervous laugh. “I hadn't quite expected you to...well, I had been working on purely hypothetical terms in that moment – t-that isn't to say I can't – woooould crackers and cheese be acceptable for snacks? I have enough chamomile stocked up for several people...I think...I hope.”

Sothis snickered merrily. “_You know...I think you become even more adorable when you're behaving honestly,_” The goddess...teased him, her lips curving upward in a slight smirk. Dimitri's mind buzzed. Yes; she was _certainly _teasing Claude, her body language reaffirmed it. “_There's a tenseness you often carry with you that ages you several years. I hope someday soon you'll be able to discard it entirely._”

Claude's mouth opened and closed without any sound; it was a shame Dimitri himself was too much in shock to appreciate the rare sight of the chatterbox rendered completely speechless.

Sothis patted Marianne's shoulders and took a step back, brushing the tears that had dripped down her cheeks away with her fingertips. “_Now then...if there is nothing for us to do but report, and then wait for the appointed hour to go and rescue those caged wolves, perhaps tea is as good a way to pass time as any. Don't you think?”_

“...If I may...?” Dedue spoke slowly and cautiously; he flinched back when Sothis turned and regarded him curiously. After a moment went by and no harm came of his speaking (_it pained Dimitri that he knew precisely why his friend had expected it_), he finished, “...what exactly happens to the Professor while you are using her body? Is she asleep?”

“_Not quite,” _Sothis answered without hesitation, tapping her chin. “_I do sometimes sleep while she is awake, so I suppose it wouldn't be impossible for her to do the same while I move about in her body. However, just as frequently I float along side her as she goes about her day, unseen and unknowable; at the moment, she is doing the same._” She waved lightly to her right, indicating a space right next to her. “_Do not worry; she isn't far away, and I won't hold her from you for very long.” _

Perhaps it was knowing that Byleth was still close, or perhaps the initial shock had finally worn away, but Dimitri found his voice at long last. “You don't remember being called the divine mother?” He blurted out tactlessly. Mortification swept over him as Sothis visibly winced; he half expected her to smite him in retaliation, but instead she merely huffed out a sigh.

“_I think it is a product or perhaps the end result of this strange position Byleth and I are in,_” She explained with only slightly strained patience. “_But I remember little of anything at the moment. The one thing I do remember...” _She reached out with both arms above her head, eyes closed in concentration. “..._is a ruined world. Blasted and burned beyond all recognition; the ground and water poisoned so utterly no living thing could thrive there. I was expanding my powers across it, purifying it and restoring to how it once was...there was so much damage and so much work to do, I became so very tired by the time I was finished. So I went to sleep...” _Her hands dropped, and she sighed. “_and then I awoke in Byleth's company, knowing nothing more.”_

“The Great Resurrection...” Dimitri murmured, reverence sweeping over him and coloring his voice. He knew the passage by heart. Long before the birth of the King of Liberation, Fodlan had been devastated by devils and monsters determined to wipe it clean of all life. Sothis struck them down and healed the world, but the strength she'd needed for the task was so immense she retreated from the mortal realm once her work was completed.

“_Ah! So you know about it?,_” Sothis asked brightly, clapping her hands together.

Dimitri couldn't help flinching when those light golden-green eyes settled attentively on him. “O-Only what I have read in the scriptures, Mother,” he said, wanting to bow his head respectfully but afraid to break eye contact. His heart thudded frantically, wondering what she could see the demon – the boar – lurking behind his gaze.

“_Mm. Might you perhaps show me what is written, later, when we have the time and chance to examine it in depth?_” The goddess asked in all seriousness. He could barely speak around the lump of reverence and terror in his throat; instead, he nodded solemnly. “_Thank you. I know you're a busy young man; it's good of you to give me the time.” _

Dimitri nodded again, dumbfounded, wondering if he'd really just heard Sothis imply she'd expected him to prioritize his day to day life over assisting the goddess herself with her lost memories.

“You said that you gave the...time power to the Professor,” Edelgard started slowly; she was watching Byleth/Sothis with a guarded and unreadable expression. “How is that, exactly? Can you do that for just anyone?”

“_Not with this power, no.” _Sothis said with a light shake of her head. “_Byleth can use the divine power because she bears the Crest of Flames. It helps her channel it and keeps it from burning her up...” _she frowned. “_...unless she pushes her mortal body past its limits. Divine magic is taxing; the Crest of Flames alleviates the strain it takes on her.” _

“Then...that's what happened to her in the tunnels?” Claude asked. Bernadetta nodded frantically, half hiding behind him, looking torn between awe and terror as she stared speechlessly at the goddess.

“_She is still mortal,_” Sothis replied with a nod. “_She has her limits. Though mind you, that was a fairly unique situation. There had been a number of times during the battle with the dolls and ghosts in the canyon when she had need of it before you were anywhere near the tunnels, and the fact that we needed to keep fleeing in order to survive forced her away from all of her usual tactics._”

Lysithea nodded in comprehension before tentatively asking, “Blessed Mother...do you want to speak to the clergy in Garreg Mach?”

Sothis paused and looked contemplative for a moment before shaking her head. “_It has been on my mind, but...not now. We are entangled in a mystery that runs deeper than any of us can tell. I worry that if I reveal myself in this time, I will put Byleth in great danger – and all of you as well, should the enemies decide to make you into leverage.” _She nodded seriously. “_I cannot abide that._”

Ashe pressed his hands against his chest, head bowed in reverence at this. 

The goddess then glanced up at the sky. “_I also dislike hijacking her body like this. Its hers, not mine, and I can't use much of my other powers without stressing her either way.” _She glanced at the shell-shocked Felix and then at the tentatively curious Linhardt. “_So with that in mind, I shall step back again for now.” _She smiled impishly at Claude. “_Though I would very much like to have that tea in the near future!” _

With those parting words, the goddess's light flared and then dissipated. The image of Sothis vanished, green flecks of light scattering away from Byleth's tall figure as she returned to her normal self. She stood still with her eyes closed for a moment, then sagged, staggering a bit as she pressed one hand against her forehead. Hilda unfroze first, darting forward to wrap an arm around Byleth and help her regain her sense of balance. “Ah,” Byleth murmured, rubbing her temple. “I wonder if that headache is normal or because I'm still running on low...”

“If you were just channeling a goddess,” Claude said weakly, hesitantly taking a step towards her. “I'm surprised you didn't pass out on us again, Teach.”

“Haha...fair enough,” Byleth gave Hilda a grateful smile and mumbled, “Thank you, Hilda. Can you continue supporting me for a bit? I'm...a bit woozy, to be honest.”

“No problem, Professor.” Hilda squeezed her hand sympathetically. “Though I've got about a billion different questions for you...and S-Sothis, I guess. She can still hear us, can't she?”

“Of course,” Byleth murmured in response. “Unless she goes to sleep while I'm awake, she sees what I see and hears what I hear. She doesn't hijack my body, not without my permission, and she gives me advice when I ask for it or warnings in battle. She's...” She looked up and smiled at them. “She's my friend.”

Friend. Dimitri took in a shaky breath, trying to wrap his mind around the ease in which Byleth used that word to describe the divine mother who lingered within her body for reasons unknown. What divinity did she herself possess to play host to Sothis Herself? Was it a role passed down to her through her blood ties to the King of Liberation, or was her soul judged to be worthy when it became clear how compassionate and self-sacrificing she was? She seemed wholly knew to him in that moment, radiant and untouchable and almost unknowable; then she met his eyes, blushed fiercely and abruptly said -

“-please, please don't start kneeling in front of me. I am not a saint! I'm still your Professor, I'm not anything – I'm not -” She fumbled for words, running a hand anxiously through her hair. “You're all looking at me that way...p-please stop...”

“S-Sorry, Teach,” Claude said, blinking rapidly before taking in a deep breath. “I, uh, was just wrapping my brain around what I just witnessed.” He took a step forward, and then patted her on the head – and then tugged on her bangs. She scowled indigently and swatted at him, and he let out a small chuckle. “Yup, that frown looks perfectly familiar. Don't you agree, Hilda?”

“Oh, totally.” Hilda laughed, completely immune to the betrayed look that Byleth sent him.

That seemed to break the spell over Bernadetta, who trotted over and latched onto the professor's free arm again. The tension went out of Ashe's shoulders, but he looked a little wobbly on his feet and he was still looking at Byleth with that little edge of awe. Felix gave his head a violent shake; even as he grumbled about Claude's inability to take _anything_ seriously – even the appearance of the goddess Herself – he was still pale-faced and uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Marianne?” Byleth asked in concern, reaching out for her blue-haired student.

Marianne sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. Then she bobbled her head, slowly at first, then vigorously before looking back and giving the young professor the most radiant smile Dimitri had ever seen from her – tearful though it was. In that moment, her extraordinary beauty was strikingly apparent; the prince heard Ashe gasp somewhere beside him. “Y-Yes. I'm alright, Professor. I...I'm happy, actually.”

Byleth smiled back at her. “I'm glad to hear that,” She said, a warm happiness bubbling beneath her familiar calm tones.

Dimitri felt his breath finally even out, the knot in his chest loosening at the familiar downplayed yet still visible display of the girl he knew and was close to. Hesitantly he stepped forward, whispering “I'm glad to see you awake, Professor,” He said.

Byleth blinked and turned to face him. Her eyes settled on him and a wave of emotion crashed over her, her blue eyes gazing intently at him; gently she removed Hilda's arm from her shoulder, took a few swift steps towards him and then threw both her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight, warm hug. He gasped, freezing in place, unsure what to say or do or even how to react; her embrace consumed all his senses.

“I'm sorry,” She whispered into his neck, squeezing his shoulder with one hand and pressing the other against the small of his back. It was as if she was trying to imbue him with some of Sothis's magic, transferred from her heart to his. “I can't seem to protect you from your worst fears, no matter how hard I try. I don't want to be more weight around your neck. I'm sorry I left you to watch another person fall defending you. I'm sorry I caused you such profound fear and despair.”

“P-Professor...” Dimitri's heartbeat increased rapidly; _you heard me? But how could you have heard me? _“I...”

Byleth's hug on him tightened. “Shh. It's okay. We can talk more later...” She let go of him, her hands sliding down his arms until they curled around his wrists. “We need to go and speak to Archbishop Rhea,” She said, raising her voice again so everyone could hear her without question. “She needs to be up to date, and hopefully she can spare us Catherine again. She and Shamir are back in the monastery, isn't she?”

“Oh!,” Ashe gasped, his eyes widening slightly. “Yes, they are – I saw them at lunch earlier; I don't think they're going to be deployed today either.”

“Good,” Byleth said, rolling her shoulder. “Come quickly, everyone. I want to time to talk strategy at bit once we've gotten the go ahead from Lady Rhea.” She glanced between them, and then took Hilda's waiting hand again. “If you would, Hilda...”

The pinkette smiled at her; the group of students then rushed back towards the monastery proper, worry for their new friends and the Captain at the back of their minds as they went. Felix grabbed the leader by the ropes binding him again, causing him to shriek about being 'manhandled' – a reaction that died a _violent _death when Edelgard stomped over to join the blue-haired swordsman, giving the man a look that would not be out of place on angry Demonic Beast.

“Why, if it isn't Metody of House Fritz,” Edelgard said with poisonous sweetness. “I'd never imagined finding you here...what, precisely, do you think you're doing, wearing the colors of _my royal house _while conducting a bloody kidnapping raid on the heart of the Faith of Serios?!”

“Erk!” The man gurgled.

Dimitri repressed the off-putting desire to laugh at the man's expense.

* * *

Lady Rhea greeted them with a mixture of pure relief and motherly frustration; she gently clasped Byleth's face in her hands and inquired after her health while scolding her for immediately leaving her bedside to get into another fight. Then she asked for a status report, which Byleth immediately complied with; she seemed to be a little bewildered, yet rather happy, by the attention the archbishop was giving her.

Dimitri saw Claude watching the scene intensely, emerald pools of light sharp and analytical. He wondered what the brunette was looking for, but his mind was unwilling to devote much energy to it in comparison to the thoughts currently dominating him.

Byleth was the host of the goddess.

To be truthful, it was difficult to concentrate on what Lady Rhea was saying to his professor with that knowledge bouncing around Dimitri's mind. He was vaguely aware that she strongly disapproved of their chasing after the Chalice, and he really ought to be mentally present enough to defend her – he'd encouraged it, knew that he would have left by himself to find it if he'd failed to convince the others, forcing them to chase after him. But whenever his eyes wandered over to Byleth, he kept seeing Sothis's image interposing itself over her and hear her playful laughter, and he lost the thread.

She was a kin to Saint Serios. A chosen warrior, as devoted to her people as she was skilled with her sword, so blessed that she wielded power from the goddess herself.

What did that make him? What right did a man like him, forever dogged by the twisted darkness within that he tried so hard to control, have to stand beside her?

_You are the Prince of Faerghus, _his father responded with a hint of urgency. _Your place is by her side, nowhere else. _

_You say that like you think she'll let you slink off into the night without an explanation, _Glenn scoffed, smirking at him. _I would think that you knew her better than that, my silly prince. _

Dimitri stilled a bit. Glenn's ghost hadn't called him by that nickname in a very long time. It was an old joke, a gesture of affection from the older boy who'd treated him with the same patient teasing he otherwise reserved for Felix. _Glenn? _

_What?, _The ghost asked in response, a bemused look crossing his face.

“Lady Rhea? I know I might well be overstepping, but I was hoping that you would be willing to ask Sir Catherine and Sir Shamir to come with us to retrieve the Chalice, my father and the Wolves.” Byleth closed her eyes for a moment when a wave of uncertain muttering went through a number of the monks standing around the room, but she raised her chin and kept her posture confident, if still deferential. “I have complete confidence in my students, but given how precious the Chalice is and my new students potentially being used as human shields, having capable backup will give us more options in the face of whatever is waiting for us.”

“There is no shame in asking for backup, Professor.” The archbishop responded, sounding pleased. She gestured to one of the monks standing nearby. “Go and send for them, will you? Catherine will be happy to have another challenge to cut her sword on.”

Dimitri looked between the monks and clerics who were talking amongst themselves. While some of them were eyeing Byleth with thinly suppressed unease, but others were regarding her with respect and something approaching awe. Her reputation throughout the monastery, especially after rescuing Flayn, had gone from unease over a cold mercenary with a frightful reputation to admiration of a talented, capable young woman. Even the most skeptical had warmed up to her, in time with her becoming more animated herself.

And yet, Byleth herself didn't seem to notice this. She just let out a little sigh of relief that her request was granted and tugged at one of her sleeves.

“I will say...” Rhea's expression grew more serious, clasping her hands in front of her. “If I'd thought you would listen to me, I would demand that you stay behind, Professor. You have only just awoken from the results of your last deployment; going to fight now will weaken you drastically and lengthen the time you will need to fully recover.” She raised a hand as Byleth opened her mouth to say something. “Unfortunately, I know you better than to expect you to stay behind when both your father and your new students are trapped. But I will ask you...please, do not act carelessly.”

“I understand, Your Worship,” Byleth responded softly, bowing her head. “If it would ease your mind, I don't think the house leaders are going to _let _me do anything particularly careless tonight.”

Rhea glanced between him, Edelgard and Claude, the latter of whom nodded with an unusual solemnity. “It's true,” Dimitri said, a little comforted by his father's pleased smile. “She'll never be alone on the field.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” The archbishop said. Dimitri didn't think he imagined seeing her shoulders relax a bit – not entirely, but the relief was visible.

“Professor, shouldn't we go get the others?” Lysithea piped up then, arms crossed in thought. “Who knows what that guy Aelfric will have waiting down in the Mausoleum; it would be better if we go down there and fight in force, isn't it? Raphael will be disappointed to miss such an important battle.”

Byleth blinked a few times, and then smiled. “That's a good point.” She looked to Rhea for permission; when it was silently given, she turned back to Lysithea and Marianne. “Go and collect the others, tell them to arm for anything. In fact, while you're at it, can you find Hannah and tell her to bring the mercenaries as well? She's probably either in the stables or the kitchens. Tell them the basics of what's going on and that I'll explain in detail once we group up.”

“Got it,” Lysithea said brightly. She then grabbed Marianne's arm and shot out the double doors with her in tow.

_Why didn't I think of that earlier?, _Dimitri wondered ruefully before turning toward Dedue. “Dedue, can you go and find the rest of the Blue Lions? There is strength in numbers...and perhaps this will lessen Ingrid's desire to kill me when I inevitably have to tell her everything.”

Felix snorted. “Like that's going to be enough,” He said dryly.

“I live in hope,” Dimitri responded without missing a beat. Felix's eyebrows shot up at that, but he didn't comment in response. Instead he pinned his old friend with a pointedly curious look.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Dedue said, turning on his heel.

“Linhardt? Off you go,” Edelgard said pointedly. The green haired boy let out a tired groan before following Dedue out the door. The two nearly walked straight into Catherine, who greeted them cheerfully despite her visible confused bemusement, Shamir at her heels. “I might as well ride out Hubert's upcoming fit in solidarity with you.”

“I'm grateful,” Dimitri said sincerely. A little happiness bubbled up in his chest at the little joke, the gesture of camaraderie from the step sister who otherwise seemed to have forgotten about him.

“What's going on, Professor?” Catherine asked, coming to a stop between Byleth and Rhea. “Don't tell me there's been another assassination threat.”

“No, though something equally heretical is afoot,” Lady Rhea told her. Catherine's eyes immediately narrowed, and Shamir instantly became more alert. “One of the Cardinals has gone rogue...” She lowered her voice as she gave her two trusted knights an abbreviated summary of what had occurred over the past several days. Byleth glanced back at Claude after a moment and gestured toward the door. _You can step out, _she mouthed out.

Dimitri nodded in understanding, internally debating how precisely he should try and placate Ingrid when she found out that he'd almost died while she had simply gone about her day, completely unaware of where he was and what was happening to him.

...He didn't really like his chances.

* * *

“So...can I finally ask you what I did to make you angry at me?”

Dimitri's heart nearly jumped into his throat at Claude's voice; he pushed himself up a bit against the wall he was leaning on, frantically wondering where he could look that would save him from gazing directly into the brunette's mesmerizing eyes. Claude noticed this; he frowned a bit and quite deliberately swung around so he was standing directly in front of the prince, planting one hand against the stone next to his head. “Stop running away from me!” He said indigently. “I can't apologize if I don't know what I've done, damn it!”

“Y...you misunderstand,” Dimitri stuttered, staring back into those eyes. “I-I'm not angry at you, Claude.”

“Then why won't you look right at me?” Claude demanded, glittering emerald eyes awash with frustration.

“T-That's...” Dimitri swallowed over a tightness in his throat. He couldn't focus on his thoughts pinned under those eyes, couldn't free himself from the mental haze with that slender muscular figure less than a foot away from him; it was all he could do to force down the heat he could feel in his face. His heart was pounding so rapidly he couldn't understand how Claude couldn't hear it.

_I want him. _

The realization had hit him like a punch in the gut when he'd seen Yuri kiss Claude; the distress, the _jealousy _that had consumed him with such force it nearly knocked him off his feet had blown away the doubt and confusion that had been following him ever since that night in the greenhouse. The thought had crystallized in his mind in perfect clarity; if he only desired to be Claude's friend, he would have been happy to see someone showing interest in him, encouraged him to chase after potential happiness, even tried to help in some discreet way. Instead he wanted to take Yuri's place, to – to quiet Claude's snark and teasing in the most sweet and perfect way.

_I want him._

How could that happen? How was that possible? Claude was – was another man. Dimitri had _never _associated these – this intense _attraction _with someone other than a woman. Catherine had been his first great crush, and even now Byleth drew his eyes, his mind, his heart like a flickering flame drew a moth. How could a prince be rendered weak with want for another, hope for... for... ...Yet when he'd first laid eyes on Claude, he had felt – he'd been in awe. Fascinated, entranced, he'd been unable to form an intelligent thought and blurted out the first easily-misunderstood nonsense that had come to mind.

Had he known it then, yet not understood?

“You've done nothing wrong. It was me...I was – was jealous.” The words slipped out, and Dimitri dearly wished that he could have stolen Sothis's gift to Byleth for just long enough to take them back.

Claude blinked a few times, startled. “Jealous?” He parroted. Confusion lingered in those emerald pools for a moment before they widened in realization. “Of..Yuri?”

_Ah, goddess, what should I say? What do I do?! _Dimitri wondered frantically. The knowledge that she was in the next room with Byleth gave him surprisingly little solace.

He couldn't admit the truth – the mere thought terrified him. He could hardly put words to what he was feeling, the fire burning through him, the feelings taking control of his heart, how could he admit to them? It would be the honest thing to do, but he didn't know how Claude would react; the brunette's playful acceptance of Yuri's playful flirting and kiss made it clear he appreciated attention from other men, but what would he make of Dimitri saying such a thing? Would he be confused? Would he turn him down, only caring about him as a friend? Would he even _believe_ him?

Yet he had to say something. Claude wasn't a fool, and it was so hard to look at him without blushing, without being _consumed _by that lighthearted excitement that made the prince's blood _sing_, without – without feeling nervous and shy and generally acting nothing like himself, that there was no way the brunette wouldn't notice. He had to give another reason for it, or have the admittance – the confession – taken out of his hands.

“It's true,” Dimitri whispered, deciding to confess to part of the truth. It was embarrassing, but it was the easier truth to say so he took the coward's way out. “I'm sorry, I – I'm sure I'm being irrational. You and Yuri get along so well; you have so much in common that watching you two together is like seeing two very old friends reunite. I felt – well, left out, I suppose.” He did his best to smile ruefully, hoping it wasn't obvious that he was looking over Claude's shoulder as opposed to right at him. “I got used to being your new friend, I suppose.”

Claude blinked at him. “Really?” He sounded dumbfounded. “I...didn't think you were the jealous type, Mitya.”

Dimitri's heart jumped treacherously at the nickname; the name only Claude called him. “Neither did I,” he responded quietly.

Claude tilted his head, that confusion mingling with surprise as he visibly thought back to the previous night. “And that's why you got upset when you thought I was going out on a date with him?” He asked hesitantly.

“...Essentially,” Dimitri managed, taking the chance to look away, avoid those beautiful, probing eyes. “I'm sorry, Claude. I know it's none of my business...and I shouldn't interfere with whatever choice you make about such matters...”

Claude stared at him for a moment, then removed his hand and backed up a step. There was an uncertainty in his eyes that left Dimitri worrying, with a sinking feeling, that he hadn't entirely bought this partially-true explanation. “Honestly I'm more surprised than upset,” He said frankly, tilting his head. “I know you a lot better than I used to, but I didn't think that you valued me _that _much.” He chuckled warmly, previous indignation melting away. “I'm touched, Mitya.”

“Touched?” Dimitri repeated blankly. “C-Claude, you really shouldn't have to-”

Two fingers pressed against his lips, silencing him. Dimitri's heart lodged a formal complaint over the strain he was inflicting on it as he found himself staring back into those emerald pools, which were dancing with mirth.

“Mitya,” Claude said chidingly, blissfully oblivious of the effect he was having on the blonde as his fingers lingered against his skin. “You know better than almost anyone why I don't have a lot of trusted, true friends. I've gone my whole life without ever having a friend who valued my attention so much they_ resented loosing it to someone else_.” He drew back his hand, running a hand through his hair. “I actually...kind of like that you were jealous. I know that sounds strange, but you're so embarrassed by it I don't feel annoyed or threatened.”

Dimitri let himself blush. Perhaps he could escape this conversation with his secret in tact after all. Maybe half truths had saved him.

“But you don't have to be...you know that, right?” Claude said, giving him a _dizzingly_ warm smile. “You're my friend. Yuri is fun to banter with, and I enjoy having someone who's so often on the same page as me. But he's not you. Just because I didn't expect to have you as my friend doesn't mean I'm willing to give you up over something silly like that.”

“...I'm glad,” Dimitri said, returning the smile as he stood up straight. _I'm glad to remain close to you for as long as I can...if only I knew for certain it could last beyond these days in the academy... _

“Great,” Claude grinned, “Then let's get ready to go rescue the others.” He winked at Dimitri. “You can hide behind me when Ingrid gets filled in, if you want.”

“You're a brave, brave man, Claude,” He responded solemnly. “I may well take you up on that.”

Claude laughed. Dimitri couldn't help how his heart jumped in response to the sound.

_What am I to do with these feelings I have around you...? How long can I play this part now that I know of this desire to kiss you? _

* * *

“I can't believe this...” Leonie said incredulously as the group of students, knights and mercenaries rushed down the twisting passageways beneath Garreg Mach that lead towards the Holy Masoleum. “How did he capture Captain Jeralt?”

“Father was his friend,” Byleth said solemnly. “They were comfortable in each other's presence, Aelfic was able to joke with and tease father over old memories, and they'd known each other for a long time. He would not have been expecting an ambush. Not from Aelfric.”

“...And surprise is a warrior's worst enemy,” Leonie finished reluctantly, clearly quoting the man in question. She let out a low growl, clenching her free hand in a fist. “That bishop's not going to get away from this.”

“Certainly not!,” Mercedes said with a surprising amount of force. Worry warred with the anger in her eyes. “Oh, hang in there Coco, we're on our way...!”

“Don't go without me, Mercedes,” Ferdinand said from somewhere behind Dimitri. There was a fierce determination in his voice that completely drowned out his usual bombastic affectations. “I won't leave Constance trapped below the earth; not ever again.”

Mercedes looked a little surprised for about ten seconds before nodding in immediate acceptance. “I'm going straight for her; help Annie watch my back, will you?”

“As you wish,” The noble replied calmly.

“I never thought I'd be coming back down here for another fight,” Lorenz huffed as he picked up his pace in order to keep up with the group. “You'd think a bishop would have the decency not to start a bloody conflict in a graveyard...!”

“I really hope we aren't too late,” Ignatz said anxiously. “The hostages are all safe, but what if the bishop decided to start the ritual early? What if there was something Yuri wasn't able to account for?”

“I wouldn't worry about that,” Claude said seriously. “Aelfric's far too confident to wonder if Yuri found a way to slip the noose he put around his neck.”

“Yuri's going to be okay,” Bernadetta panted. There was a blazing look of fear and rage in equal measure in her eyes. “He's going to be just fine; if I have to pry the Chalice out of that man's cold, dead fingers and use it on him to make that true, I will!”

“Glad everyone's so fired up!” Catherine called back from the head of the crowd at Byleth's right, “because the doors are dead ahead! Be prepared for anything, kids, and listen to your professor!”

“Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst,” Shamir said coolly, knocking an arrow as she slowed before the doors.

_Blessed Sothis, _Dimitri thought as he tightened his grip on his lance. _I'm not sure if you can hear me speak to you this way, but please, guide Byleth's arm and watch over us. I fear we'll need your guidance for what Aelfric will awaken with the Chalice..._ Amnesia or no amnesia, the way that Sothis had spoken to and of them left him no doubt that she was precisely who she claimed she was – the loving mother of Fodlan, watching over every soul with equal care and compassion. Knowing that she had faith in Byleth, and in them, was a boon to his soul.

Byleth kicked the doors to the Mausoleum open, and just like the Lions and Deer had done months before, the group poured into the large underground graveyard, weapons drawn and prepared for anything. Dimitri stepped over to his right side, scanning the room.

A massive number of apostates – all of them dressed in or wearing some sign of the church of Serios – filled the room proper. All of them wore symbols of advanced, battle-tested enemies; Dimitri saw warlocks, assassins, warriors, and heavily armored knights spread out all across the room; three mages in particular stood roughly where the Death Knight had lingered the last time they had been here. _That's either bait, or wielders of siege magic, _Glenn noted. _See the distance between them and their knight friends? _

_I see, _Dimitri thought.

That wasn't what was drawing his eyes, however. Something much more sickening was.

Four pillars of red light rose from ground, pressed up against the wall. It was not the result of flames; it was too dark, too massive, too _bloody, _and created no smoke. Glowing within those pillars was a Crest Sigil, one identical to those born by each of the Ashen Wolves. There was no comparison to when they had willingly given blood to save Byleth – in that moment, there had been soft gold and white light pouring from the chalice, mingling with the bloody light until it vanished within his professor's body. This...this was hideous. He didn't blame Linhardt for balking and looking very green at the gills.

“Bloody flames,” Dimitri heard Hubert mutter. “To think he could call on this many apostates...” The dour teen almost sounded impressed.

“I can see Yuri and the others!” Bernadetta cried. “They're all trapped by the pillars; I think the magic is keeping them from trying to move away!”

“Then we'll have to go to them,” Catherine responded easily, swinging to the left and smirking in challenge at the approaching assassins. Thunderbrand came out in a flash, cutting down an enemy in one stroke and another in the second, all in one swing of Catherine's arm. “Ready, Professor?”

“Ready!” Byleth called back. Dimitri frowned, was her voice shaking a bit? He quickly pushed his way over to her and touched her wrist, silently asking her what was wrong.

She glanced at him, blue eyes wide as disks. “Dimitri...I...I think I'm imagining things...I _hope _I'm imagining things, but...but...” She raised one shaky hand and pointed directly forward. “Can you see the woman lying on the alter up there?”

Blinking, Dimitri followed her finger to the far end of the chamber. A figure that could only be Aelfric, and a tall man that even at this distance he could recognize as Captain Jeralt, were standing just off to the side of a makeshift alter on which the Chalice sat, blazing with light and power. Yet it wasn't sitting on the table itself, but on the chest of an unmoving figure...

...the distance made it difficult to be certain, but he could have sworn she had light green hair not unlike lady Rhea and Flayn...

“I think...” Byleth swallowed; her face had gone very pale. “I think that's my mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you all on another cliffhanger (and that this chapter is shorter than the previous one), but I want to wrap up the last two 'parts' so to speak of Cindered Shadows next time, and I wanted to focus more on the reactions to Sothis's presence and some of Dimitri's personal drama over another fight scene. Don't worry, there will be plenty of action coming up next! 
> 
> I decided to bring the rest of the classes in (plus Catherine and Shamir) because I'd been missing them; plus, it gives me more opportunities from cross-class bonding by way of asskicking next chapter!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude combats apostates and monsters deep beneath Garreg Mach as they finally draw the fight for the Chalice to a close.

“_FUCK!_”

Claude grabbed Bernadetta by the arm, threw her to the right and just narrowly dodged the Bolting spell that would have otherwise come down directly on their heads. However, when one was dealing with Bolting, 'narrowly' was a relative term – the impact threw him off his feet while the electrical charge released by the impact blasted grated against his side. He was barely given any time to process the pain before he looked straight upward and saw _another _malevolent vortex of magic forming directly over his head. “_Kuso!_” He spat, rolling over in a feeble attempt to get out of the way; his arm screamed in pain at the impact.

“Claude!” Bernie's hands latched onto his shoulders, dragging him along the ground. Moments later, the lightning bolt struck the ground where he'd been lying; again the dispersing shock washed over him, scattering his thoughts. This time it only lasted for a few seconds; forcing himself up onto one knee, Claude heard Bernadetta shriek and then the screech of metal biting into metal; he glanced up and saw the diminutive purple-haired girl standing protectively in front of him, Rapier raised and forcing away the ax that would have come down on one of them otherwise.

Giving his head a violent shake, Claude forced his eyes to focus and saw his bow lying thankfully just a few feet away. He threw himself forward in a shoulder roll; once his feet were under him again, he snatched it up along with two of the arrow that had fallen out of his quiver.

Another threatening crackle sounded overhead. “_Kuso, Kuso! Three of them?!”_ He swore, his words lost in the racket of battle all around them. He darted back to Bernadetta, the ground shaking under his feet, grimacing as he saw her forced back; not quite strong enough to stand her ground against man in such heavy armor. Claude took aim, let out a breath in focus, and shot at the man's helmet. The arrow slammed into the eye through the slits needed to allow eyesight, causing the man to scream and stagger back. Bernadetta let out a half-terrified, half determined yell and charged forward. She carved up the knight's chest armor and into his chest – letting him crash to the ground.

“Thanks, Bern,” He said lightly when she turned around, relieved. Then he heard static again and muttered “Fucking-” Bernadetta clasped his hand and they darted to the far end of the line of tombs, lightning smashing the ground behind them until they concealed themselves behind a pillar. “Okay, I didn't expect that.”

“W-We have to take them out,” Bernadetta said, sheathing the rapier just above her killing edge. She slung the bow off her shoulder and shifted her feet into the beginnings of a Deadeye position. “Everyone's flattened to the walls, they can't advance so long as they control the room.”

“Noted,” Claude said grimly, glancing over his shoulder.

The 'advance force' – a short, catchy nickname for the three combined classes of the Officer's Academy, Jeralt's Mercenaries and Sir Catherine and Sir Shamir – had been forced to split into two parties advancing up each side of the Mausoleum. Several yards behind him, Hubert was throwing Mire and Miasma at the warriors surrounding him and Edelgard; Hilda was swinging her ax with intense fever at another warrior to force him back, clearly and visibly hell bent on making her way toward Balthus, while Marianne alternated between healing, throwing Thoron at the archers trying to snipe them from behind varying pillars, and casting Silence on the odd bishop. Ignatz shot at anyone he could reach, guarded by Dedue who finished off those he staggered. On the other side of the room, Ferdinand was pushing back an assassin while Catherine blazed through another one and Shamir skewered a third; Mercedes cast Physic with one hand before turning on her heel and casting Bolganone at the knight approaching her. Caspar then slid in front of her, throwing a flurry of punches into the man's singed armor; Felix bolted past him to take on the knight's partner, the power of his Crest blazing along his sword – carving through the ax brought down toward him and then into the soldier's shoulder straight through the armor. Petra had taken a bow in hand and was shooting at a pair of assassins trying to block off the way toward Hapi; Edelgard was guarding her, axe in hand.

Across the hall from him and Bernie, Byleth and Dimitri were pressed against a pillar of one of the tomb lines, the latter healing the former. Linhardt was standing out in the open, trying to lure out the siege magic with his strong resistance, but since there were _three _of them, neither Teach nor Dimitri were able to get any closer.

“We need Marianne up here,” Claude muttered, thinking furiously as he examined the battlefield as it was in the moment. “If she can shut just one of them up...” He tapped Bernadetta on the shoulder and pointed downward, at the backs of those behind them. “Hey, Bern – help me out and give me some cover, will you?”

“W-Wha? O-Oh, okay!” Bernadetta nodded, lifting her bow and decisively entering a ready stance.

Claude grinned confidently at her. “Great. Just be careful not to hit me, okay?”

Then he darted forward; back towards the warriors and his classmate. An arrow whipped past him, striking the back of the warrior's helmet – the man closest to him when he came to a stop, lined up his own arrow and knocked the man out of the fight with a shot to the spine. “Hey Mari,” He waved at her, “We need a hand over here; I'll cover you.”

Marianne took a step towards him, hesitated, and glanced back at the others. “Go on,” Hubert said in a gruff but not unfriendly way. “Both you and Linhardt can provide healing support from a distance. The sooner we can advance, the better.”

“He's right,” Hilda said, before swearing and kicking away a warrior who had been faking unconsciousness in order to get close enough to pull her to the floor. “Go on! We'll catch up!”

Reassured, Marianne turned on her heel and ran after Claude as he lead her back to Bernadetta's position as another round series of Bolting spells rocked the room. Torches flickered and the dust fell down from the old ceiling; _please tell me that's not a sign of things to come. _Skidding to a halt behind the pillar – wincing as another bolting hit the ground _dangerously _close to their position hidden behind the pillar – Claude took out an arrow, winked at Bernadetta and pointed at the mage in the position closest to them. “Think you can shut him up, Mari?” He asked lightly.

Marianne nodded. She pressed her hands together as if in prayer, expression set in concentration. Then a flare of green light spread from her fingertips, and she gave him a little smile; it was a near mischievous look, something he more associated with Hilda than his soft-spoken, devout friend. “Yeah,” She said quietly – and raised her hand.

The green light flew forward and formed a wide bubble around the nearest mage without fail. It dissipated seconds later, leaving its victim staggering and frantically pawing at his throat. Marianne grinned, delighted by her success, and moved her attention onward as she prepared the spell again. Claude spun an arrow around his finger, took aim and then swung around the pillar before taking a shot at the defanged enemy.

Bernadetta cheered loudly when the man went down; that quickly turned into an alarmed yelp when a bolting struck the pillar, sending the three of them scrambling backwards. Hilda caught Claude before he could fall to the floor, pushing him back to his feet while eyeing the stretch of land between herself and Balthus. It was still several yards, and there were assassins and two knights forming a guard around her old friend and the bloody pillar rising from behind him. “Careful, guys!” The pinkette urged.

“Noted,” He said with a rush of breath. Marianne righted herself and promptly cast Silence again; this time, she caught the man in the middle mid-cast, causing a magical backfire that knocked him off his feet. “How's your ax holding up?”

“It's still in one piece, and my mace is still ready to roll,” Hilda responded as Bernadetta dropped into a Deadeye Stance and fired her killer bow. The third bolting mage finally fell; moments later, Dimitri rushed forward with Byleth at his heels. Just as the silenced mage was getting back to his feet, perhaps signaling for a companion further back to cure his status, the prince slammed the handle of his lance into the man's face. The enemy dropped like a stone.

Byleth darted up behind the prince and pulled him back by the collar; moments later, a single bolting crashed into the enchanted tiles where he'd been standing moments ago.

“You've gotta be kidding me,” Claude muttered before running forward, Bernadetta following a bit before coming to a stop at the edge of the tomb. The brunette kept going until he skidded to a halt next to Byleth and looked forward into the second half of the room. A man _surrounded _by heavily armored knights, assassins, warriors and mages that formed a defensive line used in proper warfare tactics, rather than the disorganized copies typically used by lesser mercenaries/turncoats. “Can you see another one, Teach?”

“No, it's just him!” Byleth responded quickly, straining to see into the corners of the room and cursing. “Okay, with just the one, he won't be able to cover as much range; Sir Catherine!” She rushed to the side where the warrior woman was cutting down a pair of assassins.

“Do you think she's used it?” Claude asked Dimitri, hating that he couldn't hide his unease while asking.

The prince shook his head, fingers tightening on his lance. “I don't know...but I don't think so,” He said as Raphael, Lorenz, Dedue, Ashe, Lysithea, and Shamir abandoned their defeated enemies where they lay and hurried to join Catherine/Byleth for a new strategy. “I've kept close to her, and she hasn't staggered or lost strength yet.”

_Yet. _Claude grimaced, trying to focus on the plan Byleth had clearly telegraphed to him.

Nothing had ever damaged his confidence in his ability to plot before, especially not in battle. But he'd never been in the position of a protectorate of a woman who could turn back time. _Or did Sothis turn back time for her? The vagueness of the explanation the spirit had given him could have gone either way. _Now he was stuck with a nagging worry of whether or not any of the plans he'd used since arriving here had actually been all that clever or even useful – had he obliviously walked into the jaws of death more than once, leaving Byleth to exert herself keeping everyone alive? Could he trust his judgment to not put them in a situation she would have to get them out of?

“Claude!” Bernadetta's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned back towards her and Hilda; the former was waving anxiously. “I-I think we can get past them to Balthus! T-then we can reach Yuri after... Help us, please!”

Claude nodded and ran back to her, knowing without having to look over his shoulder that Dimitri was keeping up. _Save the self-doubt for the classroom, _he chided himself harshly. _You've had to plan your way around things since before you met her; you'll manage. _

“No worries, Bern.” He reassured her, patting her head. That got a smile out of her, easy and freely given unlike her nervousness when they first met...something warm and frightening splashed inside his heart, and he quickly set it aside, afraid to dwell on it. “Let's go.”

Ingrid quickly ran up to their side; bloody lance clutched in one hand, wheezing a bit but waving off Dimitri and Marianne's concern when the latter touched her arm. “Just got winded,” She panted. “I'm good to go.”

They turned their attention to the wide pathway that lead to Balthus and the red magic pillar blazing to life behind him. There were still two warriors blocking their way to the man, standing close enough to take him hostage and use him as a shield if they tried to snipe from a distance. “Ingrid, try and stand a bit behind Mitya, will you?” Claude said thoughtfully. “Bern, you and Marianne draw them towards us, I've got an idea...”

“I don't like your ideas,” Bernadetta whined in protest even as she drew her killing edge.

“It's okay. We're right behind you,” Dimitri promised her.

Marianne nodded without turning around, and started forward, up to the last line of line of tombs across the floor. Bernadetta yipped and hurried after her as the budding priestess raised her hand, the crackle of Thoron glowing about her hand. Claude drew an arrow, notched it and waited, murmuring “wait for it” to Hilda, who was all but vibrating with tension – eyes fixed on Balthus.

The self-proclaimed King of Grappling was slouching, wavering a bit from side to side, but despite that his posture was still defiant, and he had visibly turned their way moments ago. Amazingly, he still had his relic gauntlets! _Yuri must have planted them there so he could pick them up as needed. Not bad, my friend. _Marianne's Thoron slammed into one warrior's gut; he staggered backwards a few steps, his partner cursing virulently as Bernadetta joined in with a few arrows – aimed largely at his legs and feet, so in case they went wide they wouldn't hit Balthus – to harry him. Sure enough, this sent both of them sprinting forward, along with an archer who'd been standing nearby, to crush their tormentors...

...a notion that came to a quick end when Dimitri threw a javelin with enough force to all but _replace_ one warrior's head, Ingrid impaled the other through the gut with her lance (assisted greatly by the speed from his charge!) and Claude shot down the archer while dodging the shot aimed at his own head. Hilda cheered and then hurtled toward Balthus.

As Claude headed over to keep up with her, he glanced over to the side; just in time to see Jeralt's Mercenaries diving into the fray against the apostate's front lines. It was like watching a dance at the opera; a Mortal Savant blasted two knights aside with Ragnarok and Thunder, allowing Hannah to leap over them and skewer that last bolting mage with her lance. Following her on either side were a Hero and a female War Master, the former guarding her from another armored knight while the latter fearlessly charged forward and pummeled an sniper into submission. Behind them was an elegant woman in bishop's robes, hands raised in prayer; Claude felt a heavy blanket of soothing warmth fall over him moments before he stepped out of the range of the shower of green magic. The sensation was hard to describe; it was somewhere between a long soak in hot salt water after a long day and being wrapped in the thick, fluffy blankets in bed. Just a sense of utter comfort and peace, completely free of any pain. _So that's Fortify, huh? ...Nice. _

“Baltie!” Hilda cried, skidding to a halt in front of him. The older man beamed at the sight of her, placing slightly shaky hands on her shoulders.

“Hilda! You're a sight for sore eyes, no doubt about it.” Balthus laughed. The blood red pillar of light pulsed, causing him to flinch and lean heavily against her to avoid being brought down on one knee. “Urgh...”

“What do I do? How do we stop this?” Hilda asked anxiously, glaring at the pillar of light.

“According to C-Constance,” Balthus cringed again, grasping her shoulders. “The flow of magic needs to be d-disrupted. Since its purpose is draining me dry, doesn't make a difference if I stand on the magic tile, but if one of you did, that might work.”

Bernadetta balked a bit and eyed the pillar of light anxiously. “Um, okay! But...um, okay, is there anything big that we can drag on top of it?”

“Not that I can see...wait a moment,” Ingrid darted back to one of the fallen knights and began to pry the chest plate off. “Dimitri, come help me, let's see if some of this will do it. The rest of you just stand guard!”

Dimitri nodded and hurried over to her side, kneeling next to their fallen enemy and grasped the steel plates in his strong hands. Claude swept his eyes over the room, catching sight of Leonie shooting down an archer and earning a pat of admiration from the War Master while Catherine blazed her way past a pair of armored knights, Thunderbrand glowing as it tore through steel like parchment with its mythical double movement. Shamir was right behind her, arrows flying through the dark. Directly across the hall from them, Claude could see Byleth, Dedue, Ashe and Ignatz hovering around...either Hapi or Constance, it was hard to tell with the red light pillar blazing right behind her. Byleth was gesturing animatedly at the others, conveying something to the others before offering her hand to the girl before the pillar. Dedue and Raphael both walked around her to either side of the pillar...

Dorothea, Lorenz, Mercedes and Ferdinand had gone past them. Guarded by Catherine and Shamir, they were moving to help the girl at the far end of the room. The pillar behind her flickered and then suddenly grew much weaker; Claude squinted, trying to figure out what the hell they were doing over there to 'turn off' the ritual-

“Yuri...” Bernadetta murmured, vibrating in place as she stared up the hall to the last imprisoned wolf. “Yuri...Micah...” She rocked on her heels, glancing back at Balthus and Hilda before looking longingly ahead to where her old friend was trapped. She wanted very badly to go to him, but couldn't leave Balthus behind as long as he was stuck – until they figured out how to disrupt the power of the ritual.

Claude reached down and squeezed her wrist in an attempt to convey reassurance. “We'll be right with him, Bern.” He promised in a low voice.

* * *

“_It's because you look like him...I-I'm sorry...”_

_Claude hesitated in the barracks, one hand still holding the arrows he was refilling his quiver with. He tilted his head back a bit to see Bernadetta and Yuri standing near the door to the stables; Bernie had her head bowed and shoulders slumped, her hands clasped together. Yuri was standing next to her, his body language artificially relaxed. It wasn't easy to see, but Claude noted there was a bit of uncertainty in his crossed arms, in the way he fidgeted slightly whenever Bernadetta stammered. _

_Cool and collected as he was, he was hesitant to approach her. Claude slowly and very gently slid the arrows into his quiver, swung it over his shoulder, and leaned against the wall to observe. _

“_Is that right?” Yuri gave a slight shake of his head. “This old friend must have been quite a piece of work, with how you keep running away from me.”_

“_N-no! Not at all...” Bernadetta hugged herself. “He was the assistant to the gardener at the estate. He was gentle and kind, he w-went out of his way to make me laugh...and he was the only person who was ever nice to me. We used to run around in the gardens, playing together.” _

“_Then why you keep running away from me?” Yuri asked._

Yuri, c'mon, _Claude thought with exasperation and a significant twinge of annoyance. _You know why, or at least suspect. There's no need to drag it out like this and needle her.

“_T-That's...” Bernadetta flinched backwards, somehow shrinking to seem even smaller than she already was. Yuri's hand came up as if to clasp her shoulder, only to hesitate halfway and hang uselessly in the air for a moment before slowly being retracted. Bernadetta, staring at the floor and shivering, didn't see the gesture. “D-do I have to tell you? You're a t-total stranger...!”_

“_You don't have to do anything,” Yuri said simply, yet almost gently. “But if you don't, you and I don't have a shot at knowing each other, and you'll carry on avoiding me forever.”_

“_T-That's not good either!” Bernadetta groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before looking up at him again. Her eyes widened when she spotted Claude over just past Yuri's shoulder; he smiled and waved his fingers encouragingly in response. That actually seemed to buoy her spirits – a notion that made Claude feel surprisingly happy – because she took a deep breath, stood up straight and met Yuri's gaze head on. “O-okay, I'll tell you.”_

_She bit her lip. “My father hates commoners. He's always been like that, and when he realized I was spending a lot of time with one, he was really angry. But then I...” the girl swallowed hard, leaving Claude to once again contemplate how to get poison into Count Varley's next drink. “...he heard me complaining to my mother that I didn't want to marry any noble boy, I wanted to stay with my best friend. The gardeners boy.” _

“That's _what got him up in arms?” Yuri said, legitimate incredulity in his voice. _

You didn't know that?_, Claude thought in surprise. _I'm surprised Varley didn't proceed his attack on you with a rant about how you were poisoning his daughter's mind or something similar. Or did you think he had a different reason?

_Bernadetta didn't seem to hear this. “My father had a maid hold me in a room with a window above the courtyard. Then he had the household guards d-drag my friend out and they...they beat him to death...and tossed him out onto the streets.” Whimpering, she bowed her head again. “And it was my fault...!”_

Yuri, if you don't call bullshit on that in the next five seconds...! _Claude thought with a sharp stab of... of what he could only describe as brotherly indignation. _

_Fortunately, as it often was, they were on the same page. “That's...” Yuri let out a frustrated sigh. “That doesn't sound right _at all_. Why would you think that?” He shook his head. “Nothing you did would make his death your fault. And hating you for something your father did – completely against your wishes, at that – is absolutely absurd. Delusional, even.” _

“_But-but it was my fault! I told my mother I wouldn't marry anyone but him, after my father started looking around for potential marriage alliances!” Bernadetta hugged herself tighter. “If I hadn't said anything about him...!”_

“_If I held a grudge against you for anything,” Yuri said with a diplomatic calm, “it would be for cutting my face with those garden sheers when I was trying to show you how to prune the rose bushes.”_

_Claude grinned, while Bernadetta squeaked in disbelief and jerked her head up. “H-How could you know about that...? Wait...cutting your face...sheers...” Her whole body goes ramrod straight. “N-No way...! M-Micah?”_

“_Call me Yuri now, Bern.” Yuri responded playfully, patting the top of her head. “I'm glad I finally know how you felt about all that. Let's spend some time together later and catch up; chat about the good ol' days...oh, and maybe how you ended up in the Golden Deer house? We have a lot to talk about.” The purple-haired teen took a step back, one hand lingering on his friend's shoulder. Bernadetta was still totally frozen, staring in blank shock up at him. “I'm looking forward to it.” _

* * *

Bernadetta nodded a little bit, knuckles white on her bow. Claude turned when he heard Dimitri and Ingrid return with the heavy armor in tow, expressions determined. Marianne was casting Heal on Balthus, but given the way she was frowning and he still staggering a bit despite looking much healthier than he had a moment ago, the blood draining was interfering with her ability to properly heal him.

“There!” Ingrid threw the heavy shield into the pillar and over the tile in which it was rising. The pillar weakened but didn't falter; the light pierced through various holes in the steel, and the blood rose unabated. Frowning, Dimitri stepped around her and dropped the chest plate on top of the shield, kneeling down on top of it in the process.

“Ah!” The prince gasped. Claude spun around and saw the bloody light suddenly cut out, turning into a flat circle hovering just above the ground. Above it, Dimitri had jerked back a bit, and the symbol of his Crest was glowing above both of his hands.

“Mitya?”

“I'm alright,” Dimitri reassured him. “I just felt something – odd. I think I can feel the magic right below my feet. Balthus, what are you feeling right now?”

“I feel like a million gold pieces, your highness!” Balthus said boisterously. Hilda let out a cheer of relief and hugged him; he wrapped an arm around her back and glanced down at Dimitri. “I think you've saved my hide there.”

“No need to thank me,” Dimitri said wryly before frowning. “Unfortunately I don't know exactly _how _I've done it...I'm not sure I can afford to leave this corner.”

Claude looked across the crowd, spotted a familiar face approaching them, and yelled “Hey Ashe! What's going on over there? Have you cut off the ritual?”

“We have for Hapi and Constance! Someone has to stand over the carved Crest symbols and disrupt the ritual's magic until all four of them are covered!” Ashe then pointed directly up toward Aelfric, who was standing in front of the alter. Catherine, Shamir and Hannah were warily prowling a few yards away from him, weapons drawn but not making any attempt to approach. For a second Claude wondered why, then he saw it – a shimmering, glowing wall of golden magic. _The Chalice is protecting him? Or maybe he's channeling the immense amount of magic for the ritual through himself...either way, I bet that once we free Yuri, that will disappear, then hopefully we can take him down for good. _

“If you sure, Mitya, we're going to go ahead and get Yuri,” Claude said decisively, glancing back at his prince. The blonde smiled wryly and nodded confidently. The brunette pointedly ignored the now familiar jump in his chest and went on, “Balthus, sit for a moment – you look pretty gray. Hilda and Ingrid will stick with you.” The pinkette nodded firmly, letting Balthus out of her hug and picking up her ax again. Ingrid moved a few steps to the right, taking up a defensive position in front of Dimitri so any attacker, close range or otherwise, would have to physically go through her in order to reach him. “Hang in there until the ritual fully breaks up. Marianne, stay right behind me and Bern, alright?”

“Okay.” Marianne nodded.

“I'll come too,” Ashe said breathlessly, crossing the remaining distance between them and skidding to a stop at Marianne's side. “I've still got half a quiver.”

Claude grinned, reaching out and ruffling his hair. Ashe squawked and flailed at him, but didn't object to the gesture with any actual severity. “Good to hear.” He said cheerfully, stringing an arrow in one fluid motion. “Let's go.”

The group of four darted forward, rushing across the floor while the remaining apostates and mercenaries were putting up an admirable but futile resistance against their enemies. Yuri was on his feet, standing on one of the enchanted floor tiles and leaning heavily on his sword. Two warriors were dead around on his feet; the others who would have been guarding him had been drawn off and killed by Catherine and Byleth. Across the hall, Claude could see Teach frantically undoing the heavy ropes her father was bound in while Sylvain – holding an eerily familiar glowing lance – stood guard for her.

_I wonder if Rhea decided that the Lance ought to stay where she could see it for the near future after that fiasco at the tower, _Claude thought a little dazedly. Somehow, he hadn't noticed that Sylvain was carrying it with him until now. _Somehow, seeing that damned thing again isn't very comforting..._

“Yuri!” Bernadetta yelled, running up to his side. Yuri tilted his head and half smiled at them as the four of them formed a circle around him. “Hang on, Yuri, we'll get you out!” She looked at the pillar of light behind him, took a shaky but fortifying breath, and then stepped into the red light.

Yuri jerked involuntarily, reaching out as if to stop her. His eyes widened in surprise when the light died down to a small shimmer around her feet, the pillar vanishing entirely. “So that's how that works,” He said with tired admiration as Marianne gently placed her hands on his shoulders, murmuring the Heal incantation. “You lot are a sight for sore eyes.”

“So are you,” Claude responded with a grin, offering the violet-eyed teen his hand. Yuri clasped it and smiled in return; and this time, that warmth went all the way up to his eyes, tangible and sincere. “You look like you just spend the afternoon running away from magical puppets.”

“Please, don't even joke about that,” Yuri responded, mock-affronted, as he straightened up. “Balthus?” His tone was casual, but his gaze was serious.

“He's fine, just catching his breath. Can't speak for Constance and Hapi, but judging by the looks of things, they're taken care of as well.” Claude watched Yuri's shoulders relax ever so slightly, his eyes soften.

The other teen reached back and clasped Bernadetta's hand before asking, “Where's the Professor?”

“Pairing up with her father,” Claude responded, pointing in Teach's direction.

Further conversation was interrupted by a great rattling, which was immediately followed up by a powerful blast of magic. The impact made Claude stagger several feet backwards, stinging his eyes and skin and causing his Crest to _burn _inside of him for a few painful seconds. As that light died out and he could refocus his eyes on the scene in front of him, he could see that the light barrier around Aelfric had shattered and disintegrated. Aelfric himself had staggered, his hands grasping the alter behind him for stability, but he hadn't fallen, and the Chalice itself was still glowing with a bright, soothing, yet still very eerie light.

Cautiously, Claude took a few steps forward, watching while both Jeralt and Byleth strode up and confronted the pale, shaking man with weapons drawn, but not raised. _It's a bit late to try and talk him down, isn't it?, _he wondered, stringing an arrow. But nevertheless...he didn't raise his weapon, despite what his instincts told him. Instead he waited, wondering if either of them would be able to succeed.

“Why, Jeralt? Why? Doesn't Sitri deserve to open her eyes and see her daughter grown up?” Aelfric pleaded, placing a hand on the arm of the corpse lain out in state.

_Sitri...? _Claude's eyes snapped away from him to the body, which he hadn't paid any mind to up until now. She'd been a tall woman, slender and pale and delicately beautiful. Long, light golden-green hair tumbled down her shoulders and off the sides of the alter; just like Byleth's had changed to when she channeled Sothis hours ago. She wore a white funeral dress... _...Wait...then that's...that's...! _Understanding swept over him, immediately followed by a crashing wave of revulsion, pity, and horror. _That bastard! _

“You think I don't want that?!” Jeralt spat back, more anger and indeed more emotion in his voice than Claude had heard from him before. “You think I don't wish every night that she was still alive? But I knew her, and she would never agree to murder four teenagers to save herself. She would have strangled you for suggesting it, damn it!”

Byleth said nothing. She was standing stone still, standing on her toes; probably to get a better look at her mother's body. Claude tried to move enough to see her face; her body language was closed off to him – whether out of shock, a return to the muteness that she'd possessed when they'd met, or something else – except for her hand on the Sword of the Creator, which was shaking ever so slightly.

“We don't know that they'll die,” Aelfric said desperately, “This is her only chance, a chance to get back the life that was stolen from her here from that woman.”

Claude stiffened. What was this?

“What are you talking about?” Byleth asked. There was a quiet bewilderment within a question otherwise chillingly devoid of inflection.

“Rhea was there that night,” Aelfric said, gesturing maniacally at her. “Don't you wonder why your mother's body is unchanged after twenty years? Why a woman with poor health but a strong body 'couldn't survive' giving birth to her child? Rhea interfered with her pregnancy, with _your birth!_ Why do you think you're here now? Why do you think Jeralt took you and fled for so many years?”

“_How dare you!_” Catherine thundered, preparing to rush him. Shamir put a heavy hand on her shoulder, warily eyeing the still fiercely pulsing chalice.

“She deserved better,” Aelfric said reverently, “Whatever Rhea chose to do, it stole everything from her...and from you...don't you want to see her open her eyes? Don't you want what's been taken from you back? Your mother...she was so happy when she was pregnant with you. She bragged about how incredible you would become. She wanted to see you so very badly...”

Claude's fingers dug into his bow. _Bastard..._!

“I...” Byleth shivered. She bowed her head slightly, and briefly Claude wondered if she was listening to Sothis. _...Could it work? With Sothis to guide her, could Byleth make the Chalice work the way Aelfric wants it to? _The fact that he couldn't immediately dismiss the thought was a little terrifying.

“...Of course I want to see her.” The soft sadness in her voice made his chest hurt. Claude slipped closer; her height and her hair still mostly obscured her face to him, but... “I've...wanted that for a while. But I can't – I can't murder my students to get her back, even if I thought it would work.” She shifted her grip on the sword and looked confidently back at Aelfric. “Not just because it was something she wouldn't have wanted. But there's a few things I can't do, some lines I refuse to cross, the things that make me human and more than just the Ashen Demon.” _...Teach..._ What was he feeling now? Awe? Something else entirely? “I promised I'd protect them, so that's what I'm going to do.”

“Eisner,” Yuri murmured, his tone wrenching slightly on the name. He stiffened and tried to cover his slip-up with a rough coughing fit; Claude just cast him a quick sympathetic look.

Unfortunately, Aelfric reacted as if he hadn't even heard her. “You'll understand,” He muttered seemingly to himself, turning around and placing one hand over the Chalice. “When you see, you'll understand...there's enough blood here, I need only to finish!”

“Get away from the Chalice!” Catherine snarled and darted up the steps, pulling free of Shamir's arm. Thunderbrand flared-

-the Chalice flared and then blazed with a blinding light that filled Claude's vision to the exclusion of all else. He threw up an arm and stumbled back a step, his back hitting a pillar, started and anxious screams echoing from every direction.

* * *

For the second time in the evening, Claude was having flashbacks to Miklan and Conand Tower.

He felt the ground under his feet shaking in great tremors; loud cracks echoing from every direction including above. Magic was swirling in the air so intensely you could taste it; it danced over his skin like the wind and stung his eyes. And above the howling gale he could hear a long, ear-piercing scream that he realized in a few seconds was Aelfric. At least...at first, it was Aelfric. After a couple of seconds the scream warped, twisted and mutilated until it no longer sounded like a man. Briefly, it sounded like a man and a woman's voice crying out simultaneously, before dropping several decibels and transforming into a bestial roar that no human throat was capable of. Wind blasted out; Claude blinked several times and started to see something within the light that had turned blood red and slowly begun to fade.

A massive figure in the red mists crashed down from the alter onto all fours on the stone, stretching and growing before his eyes. Claude swore and stumbled backward, watching the shape spread upward as wings burst out of its back, stretching up and out until they were bigger than that of a fully-grown wyvern. Four legs formed from the light, the neck stretched out as horns burst from the head section. The light finally faded fully into a hazy red mist, and the magic surrounding the creature burst, revealing its new form – massive, at least as big as Miklan's Black Beast if not _even bigger_. It looked different, though. Rather than black and spiky, it's furry and scaled skin was red and gray. Its head was a skull, red irises glowing within the empty eye sockets. It let out another thunderous roar, head swinging back and forth as it glared at the puny humans surrounding it.

Aelfric, the body of Sitri Eisner, and the Chalice itself were nowhere to be seen.

“Everyone get back!” Byleth shouted. “Sylvain, Catherine, to me! Classes, rally to your house leaders! Mercenaries, to the boss! Hurry!”

Claude didn't waste a second, launching himself back to Bernadetta and Yuri as the Umbral Beast roared and slammed both its front feet down. Bloody red spikes burst out of the ground and shock waves rocked the mausoleum; Claude stumbled but was far enough away to keep his footing; Yuri was at his side in an instant, a steadying hand on Bernadetta's shoulders. Marianne was shaking violently, her hands wrapped around herself, staring in wide-eyed horror up at the creature. “Again...” She whispered, locking her fingers together. There was a flare of magic in her eyes – something sharp, unfamiliar and very different from her usual healing magic.

“Marianne, snap out of it!” He hissed, grabbing her arm. She winced and refocused on him, pressing one hand against the side of her head. “Stay with us!”

He then bolted back toward Hilda and the others, pulling her along with him with the others at his heels. The monster wasn't keen to let them go, however; it followed up this first attack by leaping forward to the middle of the room and laying its wings flat against its back. The bloody red aura flared up around it like a glass bubble, the light from it intensifying by the second.

“Everyone fall back! Brace for impact!” Claude couldn't tell if that voice belonged to Byleth, Catherine or Edelgard – but he heeded it nonetheless. Upon reaching the small indent in the mausoleum where Balthus had been kept, he shoved Marianne into the small insulated hold, spun, grabbed Ashe and pushed him in as well before bracing himself. The last thing he saw was Yuri covering Bernadetta against the wall, turning his body into a shield, before the whole room lit up with red energy and he was thrown backwards by a magical impact comparable to Ragnarok.

His vision went white, then a fuzzy gray; everything sounded as if it was coming from miles away. Everything hurt, from his head to his legs; he let out a tortured and embarrassing whine of agony as someone moved him – lifting his upper body and letting his head rest against their shoulder. Incomprehensible noise battered his ears, coming from two directions – and then -

Magic, glorious healing magic swept over him. The first wave cleared his vision and his head; as the room came back into focus, Claude found a worried Dimitri staring down at him; it was the prince who was holding him, repeating the same phrase over and over until it finally registered in the young prince's mind - “Please, Claude, can you hear me?”

“Y-Yeah,” He managed, sitting up as Marianne murmured another healing spell. The glorious warmth got rid of the last of the pain in his body, leaving only a slight wobble in his legs. Not great, but a hell of a lot better than what he'd been in moments ago.

“Thank goodness,” Dimitri breathed out, clasping his hand. “Can you stand?”

“Y-Yeah, I think so. Everyone else?”

“I'm fine,” Ashe said a bit shakily. Marianne quickly changed over to cast Heal on Yuri's badly burned back while the latter staggered to his feet, much to Bernadetta's distress and protests. “Thank you, Claude. You probably saved my life.”

“Don't mention it, we need to move,” Claude said sharply, grabbing his bow off the ground and watching the Umbral Beast. It currently had its back to them, snarling in anger as a red hot attack sliced across its chest. Unfortunately he got up too quickly and his knees buckled, ready to give out again-

-but Dimitri steadied him, standing up and tugging Claude against his chest so the latter could center himself and regain his balance. The brunette's hand scrabbled against his shoulders and slid down the blonde's muscled chest by consequence; it took a couple of seconds for him to realize this, and he took a rapid step backwards when he did, his fingers hot as though they'd been burned. “Thanks,” He said, praying he wasn't blushing. It was stupid thing to concentrate on in the middle of this chaos, but he couldn't stop himself!

He didn't get a chance to focus on Dimitri's reaction for more than a few seconds; green light surrounded him in the blink of an eye, and then he found himself yanked backwards. The sensation was hard to describe – it was as if someone had hooked him around the middle of his stomach and yanked him back via a single rope. Disorenting but effective, however – because when Claude blinked his eyes clear again, he was standing clear on the far back-left of the room, with Leonie on his left and a very determined-looking Flayn on his right. “You have Rescue?” He managed very inanely when he figured out what had just happened.

“Why yes!” Flayn said brightly. “I had been hoping to find a good time to demonstrate as much, but the Professor had wanted me to focus on learning Reason magic so I might better defend myself. Excuse me for a moment-” Her eyes narrowed and she put both her hands forward. Moments later, Dimitri appeared with Ashe clinging to his arm. “Good! Almost done.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri said dazedly, looking around frantically for his classmates for several seconds; only relaxing when he found them and saw that they were still in fighting condition.

“Claude, what's the plan?” Raphael asked urgently as Yuri appeared with Bernadetta in his arms, having teleported over on his own. “You've always got a plan, what should we do?” Both Leonie and Ingatz pinned him with hopeful looks as Flayn pulled over Marianne next.

“Ah...I'm working on it, Raph, give me a second,” Claude gritted, not wanting to admit how badly on the back foot they were. Hurriedly he scanned the length of the room.

Edelgard and all the Black Eagles, including Hapi from what he could tell, were holed up in the furthest corner of the room directly north of them. It seemed like they were spreading out, scattering in every direction while casting varying spells and thrown weapons to harry the monster – or at least attempt to distract it, given how little damage they seemed to be doing. The Umbral Beast was bearing down on Jeralt's Mercenaries, lead by the man himself – who was doing his damndest to _keep _the monster's ire, even in the face of the liquid fire it was spitting at him and his companions. Meanwhile...meanwhile, Teach, Sylvain and Catherine were swinging around the creature's left flank, relic weapons at the ready; behind them, Constance and Shamir were hovering, clearly trying to make the best of their range and provide what assistance they could to both protect and support the three. To the left of where the Golden Deer were waiting, the rest of the Blue Lions had taken up point; Felix was at the head, Mercedes alternating between healing Dedue and Annette as Flayn rescued Ingrid and dropped her off closer to her classmates.

“Teach, Sylvain, Catherine and Lysithea are our best bet of doing serious damage to that monster,” Claude said after thinking furiously for a moment; as he spoke, Flayn's Rescue spell dropped Hilda and Balthus off in front of him. “Felix and Balthus can take potshots where they can, but it's damned dangerous to get up close and personal with something capable of stomping you like an ant, so make that a last resort or only when it's completely distracted! Other than that, the rest of us are doing scratch damage... Unless either Mercedes or Annette learned Seraphim when I wasn't looking?”

“Not as far as I know,” Dimitri said, shaking his head. “I haven't seen Constance use it; I don't think she knows it either...”

“Okay...okay. That means our job is to run interference and distraction, while taking whatever potshots we can. Flayn, Yuri, you focus on throwing people out of danger with teleporting and rescue; whenever your not doing that, heal anyone who needs it. Marianne, if you can find some way to coordinate with Linhardt and Mercedes so the three of you can be a coordinated Physic support outside of battle, do so. Lysithea, I'll cover you best I can; Leonie, you're our backup. Dimitri, go and lead your classmates around the beast's back flank, keep an eye on Teach and Sylvain. Ignatz, Lorenz, use your discretion; Raphael, protect Marianne.” Claude snatched several stray arrows off the ground to replenish his quiver. “Archers, mind your ammo. And everyone, keep your position flexible and be ready for anything; we don't know if or when the Beast will pull that trick out again!”

Dimitri nodded sharply; he and Ashe sprinted in the direction of the Blue Lions, Marianne about two yards behind them, calling for Mercedes while Raphael took up a defensive stance in front of her. Yuri let out a calming breath and slid over to Flayn's side, murmuring something to her he couldn't hear. Bernadetta scrambled between a couple of fallen apostates, tugging arrows free of their bodies despite her obvious disgust and remorse at the notion.

Claude then glanced back at Lysithea, who was swallowing over a lump in her throat judging by how pale her face was. “Do you trust me?” He asked her without thinking.

Strangely enough, the question actually snapped her out of the trance she was in. The white-haired girl glared at him and retorted with pure confidence, “of course I trust you! Let's go!”

He felt himself grin in spite of himself after a second of shock. “Right, then.” He sucked in a fortifying breath and began to run in Teach's direction even as she swung the Sword of the Creator into the abomination's side, raking across its belly and ripping its protective scales off. The red hazy barrier against the creature's skin cracked violently in that area, and the beast roared furiously.

“What's your best long sprint?” Claude asked Lysthiea with possibly inappropriate nonchalance.

He could see her eyes flashing without turning back toward her. “I'll be as fast as you need me to be.”

“That's the spirit,” Claude remarked, feeling himself smirk. _Burning flames, Lys...you know, I think Father would _love _you if he had a chance to meet you in a mess like this. _

They were about three yards away from Byleth's position when there was a white flare of light directly in front of them. Claude skidded to a halt and readied his bow; when the light faded, Aelfric was somehow standing in front of him, earning a disbelieving shriek from Lysithea.

However, this...this was not the man they'd been fighting not long ago. 'Aelfric' had blank, vacant eyes with no pupils, or any defining features whatsoever – they were more like white marbles someone had placed in an empty skull. The skin itself was too pale to be real – it was porcelain, smooth and pure as baked white clay. He was a bit too tall, a bit too thin; his hands only had four fingers, and he didn't speak – he didn't even look like he was breathing. Surrounding him was a red haze just like that surrounding the Umbral Beast.

Claude didn't waste a second after his brain finished processing the macabre horror in front of him – he leveled his bow and fired an arrow directly between the...creature's...eyes. The impact threw 'Aelfric' backwards far further than a normal human struck by one; and rather than crumbling to the ground like a normal corpse, 'Aelfric' quite literally shattered into red dust upon hitting the ground. The red dust coalesced into an oval scale; glittering against the floor.

“What the hell?” Lysithea sputtered, horrified.

“Something tells me...there might actually be a reason that all the preachers say that artifacts of the goddess weren't meant to be meddled with,” Claude breathed out, staring warily at the scale for a second. “C'mon, we can dwell on it afterwards!”

“R-Right...”

As the two of them approached Byleth's position, the Umbral Beast let out a terrible screech, and red light swelled up around them again. Then, in the blink of an eye, it reappeared on the far end of the room – cutting the Blue Lions off from the Black Eagles that had been moving to hook up. Dimitri shouted 'fall back!' before throwing a javelin at the Beast's head while students on both sides rapidly endeavored to obey.

“Damn it!” Sylvain gasped, turning and rushing toward the creature's back. The javelin must have hit an open wound, because the furious beast had turned exclusively toward Dimitri who had run to the side – away from his fellow Blue Lions, despite Dedue's dogged attempt to keep up with him. Byleth paled, and Claude saw a tell-tale flash of golden-green light in her eyes. _Teach, no! You can't afford-_

“Flayn!” His professor shouted at the top of her voice. The green haired girl waved frantically to indicate she'd understood. “Rescue me and Catherine!”

_Damn it, Teach! _Claude thought in panicked frustration as the green light teleported both women away before he could reach them and yell at his friend. “Lysithea, tell me you can make a shot from here.”

“Watch me!” Lysithea said with a heavy gasp, pulling up on his right. They were half a dozen yards away from the beast; Byleth attacked from a corner, swinging the Creator's sword forward in a long arc. The tip of the blade slammed into the paw the Beast had raised to smash Dimitri aside, drawing a frustrated screech from it. Both Felix and Catherine rushed under said arm, slicing one after the other in an attempt to sever the limb. “I...I can do it!”

Claude glanced back at her. _You've got good eyes, princeling. They'll save you more than anything else you can think up, _his father's voice echoed in his ears. Looking back at the beast – at the arm the two sword-wielders were hacking away at – and murmured, “I know you can...but let me help, just a little.” Then he gently grasped her wrist just below the spell gathering in her palms and moved them up and to the left, shifting her aim just enough. Lysithea squawked but didn't shove him off as he looked over her shoulder just to be safe. “There! Get him there!”

“Seraphim!”

The white spell flew across the floor, flowing through the air for an agonizingly long second before slamming into the creature's arm – right into the deep groove Felix and Catherine had carved. The Umbral Beast screamed, red light flaring as it brought its wings down against its chest. Yuri grabbed Byleth, Flayn picked up Dimitri then Sylvain with Rescue, and everyone else bolted in opposite directions, Dedue and Ferdinand taking up the rear on either side.

“Claude, Lysithea, hurry back this way!” Constance cried behind them. Claude wasted no time obeying, pulling his friend(?) along with him as his Crest prickled in warning; two of the Mercenaries jumped in front of them, shields raised, right before the impact.

Claude pulled Lysithea against his chest, bracing her as he was knocked to the ground. Fortunately the fall wasn't nearly as violent as his first one, and while his head hurt on impact, he wasn't concussed – and better still, Lysithea wasn't hurt at all, merely falling off his chest onto the floor next to him.

All credit to his small friend – she bounced back fast. She quickly rolled onto her knees and placed one hand on his head. The warmth of Heal rushed over him as she scowled and demanded, “hey, what the hell was that!”

“You're mad at me,” Claude chuckled lightly, “Great. That means you aren't hurt.”

Lysithea's eyes widened a bit, a myriad of emotions rushing through them before settling on a mixture of frustration and gratitude; she smacked his chest twice and yelled “you moron!” even as her cheeks turned slightly red.

Claude laughed, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He was a little surprised to immediately find Constance standing in front of him, one hand stretched out in support. Smiling a little hesitantly at her, he accepted it and got back to his feet. “It keeps healing its barrier,” The blonde fretted, “it must be drawing power from the Chalice. This is why we should not toy with artifacts of the progenitor god!”

Lysithea glanced over at Claude, a visible question in her eyes. He minutely shook his head, no, he was fairly certain Constance wasn't aware that the 'progenitor god(dess)' was much closer than she realized. “Hopefully as we wear it down, it'll loose the ability to do that,” He said grimly, frantically scanning the room to see where Teach, Dimitri and everyone else had ended up.

Dimitri was easy to find, lance in hand, already heading toward the front of the mausoleum where the Umbral Beast had positioned itself. Byleth was ahead of him with Catherine and Sylvain at her sides; the redhead had swung his lance twice and the blade was blazing brightly, clearly building up for something. Yuri and Bernadetta were directing Mercedes and Marianne to heal a number of students on the floor – including Felix, Dedue, Lorenz, Ignatz and Ferdinand, if Claude's vision through the haze could be trusted.

Across the room, Edelgard, Hubert, Dorothea and Caspar were hammering away a number of those creepy 'Aelfric' dolls, which seemed to be trying to herd them into a corner. Linhardt and Hapi were running madly away from the Umbral Beast, which had turned its attention towards them. Jeralt was already running up to flank it with most of his mercenaries at his heels; Hannah, a bishop and that War Master from earlier were hanging back them.

“At least...it isn't regrowing its leg,” Lysithea panted as they started to make their own way to the center of the room, where most of the others were gathering. Shamir noted them coming before shooting down another 'Aelfric'. “How much damage have we done to it? It doesn't look like it's slowing down at all!”

“We've just got to keep hammering on it.” _And not put Teach in a position where she decides she has to kill herself using Divine Pulse again...! _“How are you holding up?”

“'M fine! You're the one who just used himself as a falling couch!”

“If she can snap at me, she's fine,” Claude reassured the bishop, who was frowning at them in concern. The older woman rolled her eyes at that, but her responding expression was warm with respect.

They linked up with everyone in the center – the newly healed, along with Raphael, Ignatz, Leonie, Ingrid and Flayn, all of whom looked rattled but otherwise unharmed. Marianne looked pained, her hands clenched and magic swirling around her feet. Claude could only spare a moment to wonder what was up with that when a roar attracted his attention again.

Sylvain, Teach and Catherine had reached the Umbral Beast. Teach lead the assault with a powerful swing of the Creator's Sword aimed at the creature's neck; as its head reared back at either pain or an attempt to lessen the blow, Sylvain darted forward and slammed the Lance of Ruin directly into the Beast's chest. There was a thundering crash, the splintering of magic, and a blazing _crater _was burned through scale and barrier alike to sear deeply into flesh – exposing chunks of bone. The Beast screeched in agony, rearing back; Catherine, bold as her name implied, darted underneath it and between its two back legs, slicing at them with Thunderbrand even as she passed and came out the other side.

_Those who wield a relic are an army unto themselves, _Claude recalled reading in some history book. Well...reading was one thing. Seeing it with your own eyes?, that was another.

The Umbral Beast crashed forward onto its stomach, wings spreading across the floor, its tortured groans lingering...disturbingly human sounding against the grumbling of stone pillars and the cracks forming in the ceiling. “It's down!” Jeralt shouted back at them. “It's on the ground, now's our chance!”

Dimitri was halfway across the floor, lance in hand; the blade glowing with the power of his Crest. Claude huffed, caught his breath, and patted Lysithea on the shoulder. “We're going to get shown up at this rate. C'mon.” Knowing that was enough to galvanize her again, he threw himself forward. Hopefully, they could end this before it could recover and use that attack again!

Bolting from Constance crashed down on on the Beast from above; off to the side, Balthus slammed his gauntlets together and threw a magical blast from them into the wing exposed to him, burning a sizable hole in it. Hapi and Hubert stood together and simultaneously cast Banshee, fusing their attack to spread the 'slowing' effect across at least half of the Beast's body. Dimitri stopped about a yard behind Byleth, shouted for her and Sylvain to move to the side, and threw the lance straight forward. The Royal Crest flashed through the air in a split second before the lance embedded itself in the Beast's skull until it was halfway through, causing a massive crack to form across the head. Hilda threw an ax at one of the wounded back legs when the wing twitched out of the way; Ingatz, Ashe, Bernadetta and Petra all took aim with their bows and unleashed a storm of arrows on the beasts wings. Claude added his own to that rain of doom the moment he was in range, noting with glee and relief that he could see their originally-ineffectual attacks sinking in, bypassing the creature's unnatural defenses to the body below.

Lysithea darted ahead of him to slightly behind Dimitri, carefully taking aim before firing Seraphim once again; this time she didn't need help aiming, and the spell struck home against the bone that Sylvain's attack had exposed. The mercenaries were not idle, either – the Mortal Savant and the bishop were both adding their magical attacks to the assault on the torso, the archer (the bow knight, to be more proper, but he was obviously without his horse down here) fired at the wings, Jeralt – with a flare of his Crest of Serios (_and wasn't _that _a fascinating thing to explore once they got through this last mess!_) threw a lance so to impale the wing and pin it to the ground, digging into the stone floor until it was like a pike, obstructing the Beast's movement.

Ferdinand took a long pike from one of the fallen apostates and darted in close, taking a daring manuver to ram said pike into one of the Beast's eye sockets. He was promptly Rescued away by Flayn before it could retaliate by biting him in half; its head swung left to right, spraying black blood everywhere. Constance used Bolting again, this time clearly aiming for the head; Dimitri's lance drew the lightning into itself and the open wound it had created in the skull, allowing the full force of the blast to catch and widen the wound extensively.

Byleth stepped forward, twisting her wrist holding the Sword, and lashed out with it again in an upwards strike. The flames surrounding the blade carved through the beast from the bottom stomach, slicing through the flesh weakened by Sylvain up through the skull up to Dimitri's lance, then past it and out through the top of the head.

There was a deafening crash, and another great flare of red light. Claude winced, raising a hand to cover his eyes.

A moment later, it was gone, and before the eyes of the exhausted contingent before it, the body of the beast turned to red dust and ash, loosing all shape and crumbling into a small pile. Atop that pile was the Chalice of Beginnings, glittering softly in the light of the torches.

Byleth slowly walked towards it, ignoring the worried shouts behind her of those who didn't think the battle was over. She made her way up to the pile, the Creator's Sword dropping to the floor from her numb fingers. A wave of worry choked Claude; he slung his bow over his shoulders and forced himself to run after her, ignoring how his body ached. When he reached her, Dimitri at his side – clearly sharing his fears – his Teach had reached forward and picked up the Chalice, cradling it in her hands.

“...Mother...” She whispered when he came to a stop behind her. A violent shudder went through her whole body; Dimitri quickly grabbed her shoulders, catching her before she could fall; Claude helped him guide her down to the floor as he knelt, hovering anxiously and studying her parlor. She was pale, but there was still blood in her cheeks. “...Oh mother, mother...” Her voice cracked violently, and she pressed the Chalice against her chest.

For a moment, Claude thought she might be crying. But...no. It was as if she wanted to cry, but didn't know how to. “Mother...” She whispered weakly, pitifully, as she slumped back into Dimitri's arms.

“Professor...” Dimitri whispered tenderly, tightening his hold on her. Claude, for once unsure what to say or do, reached over and placed a hand on top of hers.

“...I...I did want to see her. I wanted...to hear her...I wanted...” She bowed her head. “I hoped...but it wasn't meant to be, was it?”

“Rest, Professor.” Dimitri responded quietly, brushing her hair aside. “Please, rest. You're hurt, you're weakened. Rest...I'll-we'll be right here with you.”

“Listen to the prince, kid,” Jeralt said quietly. How someone that massive had managed to silently walk over to their side, Claude had no idea, but there he was. “Please.” He had a sense that 'please' wasn't a word that the grizzled mercenary used very much.

Byleth looked up at them with distant, shiny eyes. She tried to say something, but couldn't seem to find the energy; her lips moved anyway, and then she rested against Dimitri's shoulder. Claude wasn't sure if his prince knew what she'd meant to say, but he'd heard it loud and clear.

_Please don't leave me. _

_I'm not going anywhere, Teach._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone who has fought the final boss of Cindered Shadows - am I imagining things, or does the Umbral Beast have stupidly huge amounts of defense and resistance? Because I've fought it twice, and I swear it was a hell of a trick to do more than scratch damage even after I managed to break it's armor. Not to mention it does ridiculous amounts of damage to every single one of the units! Definitely a tough boss, almost edging out Nemesis - though I do think he's a little worse in some respects.
> 
> However, this finally wraps up the Cindered Shadows mini arc! Next we return to the daily routine of Garreg Mach - just in time for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion! Ahaha...(thinks to how much trouble she had juggling all the characters in this chapter) Oh boy, this is gonaa be a tough one.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth learns a bit about her mother, recovers, and has some interesting conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll! (mimics war master critical punch!) This was surprisingly easy to write out. Of course, the tricky part comes next chapter, doesn't it?

Byleth hadn't really noticed the cool breeze; in all honesty, she was a little outside her own head. She carefully fingered the bunch of flowers in her hands – red and blue and purple, gently pruned and cleaned – for a moment before she knelt and carefully laid them out at the foot of the tombstone.

_Sitri Eisner. _The date of her birth and death were worn away by the wind and rain. The grave wasn't overgrown or in any way neglected, but she had a sense that those who felt the loss of her keenly had difficulty coming near here. She reached out and gently traced her fingers along the carved letters; the stone was cool and hard underneath her nails, unyielding, unfeeling.

_You don't remember her at all? _She thought at Sothis, morose.

_No. I'm sorry, _The goddess (_the goddess? How could that be?_) said regretfully. _What troubles me is that I believe I should! Once I heard her name, I could see her in my mind's eye...but there's only an image, nothing more. ...She had such a warm, vibrant smile... _Byleth closed her eyes for a moment as the phantom sensation of Sothis's hands settling on her shoulders. _You have her look. Your height and strength come from Jeralt, no doubt, but the beauty, the fierceness, the warmth, all of it comes from her. _

_...What do you think she would have thought about the Ashen Demon? _Byleth wondered, sitting back on her heels before the grave. The sun beat down on her, yet its rays didn't soothe her as it so often had before. _The gargoyle who couldn't feel, even when she killed? _

_She was your mother, _Sothis said with pure confidence. _She loved you. She would have loved you no matter what. _

Byleth's eyes opened partway as she gazed at the stone again. She tried to remember her dream from several days ago, the image of her mother kneeling in the greenhouse and turning toward her with a smile. She clung to that image, that picture, and wondered if, perhaps, there was a portrait of her somewhere in Garreg Mach. The monastery had been her home her entire life, so maybe-

A sudden warmth cut off her thoughts; Byleth blinked twice and grabbed the edges of the heavy coat that had just been dropped over her shoulders. “I thought you were supposed to be recovering, professor,” Her companion said; his voice made her relax, even if she was a bit chagrined he could so easily sneak up on her. “Does dressing warmly offend you?”

“Of course not,” She muttered, standing up and turning to face Yuri. “I was lost in thought...and I'm not so fragile that this sort of weather could hurt me.”

Her newest charge didn't look very impressed by that logic. “Maybe, but why take the chance? Being sick and weakened is a chore. No reason to risk stretching it out.” He nonchalantly stepped around her, pulling the coat tighter around her before tying it around her neck. “There; that's better.”

“Thank you, Yuri,” Byleth replied with a sigh, yielding to the logic and the most recent in many, many attempts to make her comfortable.

Yuri smiled lightly in response; there was a slightly softer, more serious look behind his usual teasing, and Byleth welcomed it. He had ditched the chains that had been part of his Ashen Wolves uniform, switching it out for gold-painted buttons on his white shirt while keeping his purple overcoat and black pants. He didn't quite look like a Golden Deer, but frankly nobody minded that, and these colors suited him quite well anyway.

“How is your mother?” She asked after a moment of silence, tugging lightly on the loose sleeves of the coat. It felt nice against her skin. “I didn't see her at breakfast.”

“She was just tired,” Yuri said; his eyes darkened slightly, but only for a moment. “After spending all that time in the tower stressing out over what I would have to do to keep her safe, she's playing catch up. I've been bringing her food, so try not to worry any more than you have to – okay?”

“...Alright...”

They stood in silence for a moment, Byleth letting her attention fall down on the grave again. “Hey, whatever answer you're looking for, I don't think the stone is going to come to life and offer it to you.” Yuri mused, reaching over and tugging on the cloak's hood. Byleth jerked back a step and gave him a warning look that, naturally, was less than effective. “What's eating at you the most, right in the moment?”

“...To be honest, I don't know.” Byleth ran a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her eyes. “I guess I'm wondering...why now? I knew all my life that she was dead. Even if I was – different – for the longest time, I had wished for her to be with us before. Then why...” She trailed off for a moment, hissing through her teeth as she tried to find the words to explain the sensations that had dogged her for the last few days. The emotions, the twisting, winding thoughts that kept her awake at night. “Why do I feel so cold now? Why do I feel empty? It's like something punched a hole in my chest, and nothing I've tried can fill it.”

Yuri thought for a moment, then took a deep breath. “At risk of sounding very condescending...there's nothing odd about that.” He waited for a second. When she didn't do – well, whatever it was he had been expecting – he went on, “You've never really had a mental image of your mother before now, did you? All you knew was that she was gone, and how can a person mourn or miss something they never really had?”

“...”

“That night, Aelfric showed you her body, perfect and undamaged by the years – dangled the possibility of restoring her before your eyes – and then his folly turned that body as well as himself into a monster. You essentially lost your mother again, right in front of you. It's only natural that you feel that loss more keenly now.”

“...I feel like I owe you an apology, Yuri.” Byleth said quietly, looking down at her feet.

She could feel Yuri staring at her sure as if his gaze was a tangible thing. “How can that _possibly _be, after you damn near died twicesaving my neck?”

“Because – for a moment, I wanted it to work.” She grasped her shoulders. “The ritual. I knew you were in serious danger, but for a moment I wanted – I hoped that it would work, and my mother's eyes would open. I couldn't go through with that thought, though. You were right there, you were alive, and I couldn't risk that you would die in the process. But for a moment, I almost-”

Yuri's hand snaked under her chin, gently but firmly lifting her head until their eyes met. “Professor. I used three of the only people who, in my whole life, genuinely considered me their friend as pawns in a game that could cost them their lives. I brought you and your students into my scheme – knowing you could damn well die in the crossfire – to bolster my chances of saving _my own mother_. I'm a lot of things, but I like to think I'm not a massive hypocrite. I'm not going to begrudge you a moment of weakness in the face of everything you did for me, a moment didn't stop you from saving me. Everything that you did, that you had no reason to do – there was nothing in it for you – but did anyway, more than make up for it.”

Byleth stared back into his intense violet gaze, seeking for any hint of dishonesty, any sign he was hiding his real feelings behind an answer that may have been expected from him. But if he was being anything but sincere, she couldn't see it. “Thank you.”

Yuri relaxed and smiled warmly back at her. “Don't worry about it, you hear me? I don't have to bribe you with sponge cakes before you accept that all is forgiven, do I?”

A little warmth spread through her cheeks. “Ugh, how did everyone find out about that anyway?” She grumbled halfheartedly, thinking back to the massive and very tasty cake Ashe had brought her the previous night. “You'd think I'm the only one who takes seconds when it's on the desert menu!”

“True, but you are one of the few who takes thirds and fourths,” Yuri said faux-innocently; he promptly dodged the punch she aimed at his shoulder. “What? It's not like you put the same effort into hiding your cake intake as Lysithea!”

“Watch it, or I'm going to offload all my paperwork onto you.” Byleth threatened, crossing her arms.

“Aw, but then how will you punish Balthus for getting into a bar brawl or racking up another tab?” He asked teasingly.

“Easy,” Byleth responded serenely. “I'll put him on laundry duty for the rest of the month.”

Yuri made an exaggerated face at her. “Now _that's _evil. You're becoming a proper professor after all!” He dodged another punch with a laugh.

Byleth scoffed at him while wrestling down a sudden desire to smile. _Darn it, Yuri, _she thought with a twinge of fondness.

In the aftermath of the beast's death, she'd passed out again – consequence of using Divine Pulse twice so soon after burning out, necessary though it had been – so Dimitri had carried her back to the infirmary and gone to give the situation report in her stead alongside her father. When she'd woken up several hours later, Rhea, her father, Claude and Yuri were sitting at her bedside; both to check in on her, and tell her something surprising – namely Balthus, for reasons known only to Sothis and himself _(Sothis had snickered merrily at her surprise, which was just rude_) had decided to join the Jeralt's Mercenaries to work off some of his debts – including a mysterious new 'debt' that he now owed to one Byleth Eisner. Apparently – despite their usual immunity to his bouts of insanity – his friends had unanimously decided to follow his lead; Yuri wormed his way into the Golden Deer as a part time student, part time assistant (_he'd had the nerve to smile cheerfully at her when she'd protested that that 'wasn't a thing'_) Constance had elected to work under Seteth as a new 'commander' for practice battles, while Hapi had declared she was fit enough to finish her education and thus would attend her lectures to see to that.

She'd been totally bewildered. Blindsided. They didn't owe her anything, why were they doing this? Sothis had reminded her of an earlier joke she'd made at her host's expense, about drawing in pretty boys without even meaning to. Byleth had protested and noted that half the Ashen Wolves were girls. That just made the goddess snicker, remarking that she was 'astonishingly oblivious' for a girl as beautiful as she was. Having _no idea _how to respond to that, Byleth had grumbled about her lacking the dignity of a goddess. Sothis merely pouted, reminding her that she didn't remember how dignified she, as a goddess, typically had been.

As confused as she was...Byleth didn't actually mind having Yuri, Balthus, Constance and Hapi as a part of her 'class'. They were a loyal group, they got along with her other students very well, and she rather liked each of them quite well. There were still strong ties with each of them to Abyss – Yuri in particular – but they were enjoying their newfound freedom, even in the wake of Aelfric's betrayal.

She was glad of that.

“Hey,” Her father's voice startled her out of her thoughts (and further attempts to dissuade Yuri from further teasing). The two of them turned toward the stairwell to find him standing there, looking a little awkward with a book of all things tucked under one arm. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not really,” Yuri said, glancing back at Byleth. He seemed to read something into her father's mood, because he added, “if you need to borrow the professor for something, I'll go and catch up on my reading.”

“I appreciate that,” Jeralt said with a nod. Yuri gave her a smile and then trotted back over to the stairwell, only to scale the stone wall and leap over it with a dramatic flare. Her father snorted in amusement. “Show-off kid...he's as bad as Riegan.”

“If he hears that, he'll consider it encouragement,” Byleth deadpanned. Jeralt snorted in amusement, making his way down the stairs and coming over to join her. Up close, she could see that the cover of the book he held was worn, and had a thin coat of dust along the top of the pages. And his other hand was in his pocket. “What is it, father?”

For a moment, Jeralt didn't reply; his attention had fallen on the tombstone, his expression pensive and very distant. She'd seen him with such a faraway look a few times before; he did his best to hide it, but when she woke early in the morning she often found him staring up at the sky, or back toward the east (_back toward Garreg Mach, she knew now_) lost in a dream she had to wake him from. She'd thought once that her father wasn't a sentimental man; perhaps he always had been, but he'd tried so hard to hide it from the world.

“I...owe you an apology, kid.” Jeralt sighed after a long minute of silence. Byleth knew without asking what he was referring to.

That odd, foreign feeling of resentment flared up suddenly in her chest. The emotion she had been ashamed of, confused by...suddenly it fell into place in her mind, and she felt justified in it. “...Maybe so,” she said in a familiar neutral tone.

“I told myself a lot of things over the years about why I had to leave Sitri in the past...but in truth, I just couldn't bring myself to talk about her.” Her father traced the top of the gravestone with one hand. “...I wasn't there when she died. I'd been sent out on an errand of mercy in the Empire. Simple stuff, low stakes, nothing I hadn't done a thousand times. She saw me off with a smile. Everything was as perfect as it could have been...then I came back three weeks later, and she was gone. Just like that.”

“...” Byleth felt her expression fall. A painful pinching feeling took hold in her chest.

“The pain I felt for those days was indescribable. The only moments when I could think or feel though the fog surrounding me was whenever Rhea put you in my arms.” He glanced at her and smiled; small and pained, but genuine. “You were a quiet baby; you didn't fuss much, unless you thought I was ignoring you.”

“Oh,” She murmured.

“She loved you right away,” Jeralt said unexpectedly, turning to fully face her. Byleth blood spiked a bit, her hands tightening on the warm fabric of her coat. “From the moment she knew she had you, you were all she would talk about. She planned out your room, she started compiling books and toys for you, she fretted over every minute detail about her pregnancy so she could keep you as safe as possible.” He took the book in his hands, brushing the cover off. “This is one of those books, actually. She asked me to get it while I was out on that last job. I should have given it to you a long time ago, but...it was hard to let go of.”

Hesitantly Byleth held out her hand, delicately accepting the hardcover treasure from him. The title was written in golden thread across a blue cover. _Stardust. _She opened the cover and gasped at the beautiful, intricate illustrations on the first page.

“It's a famous romantic fable from Faerghus.” Jeralt said awkwardly, though a soothing memory seemed to creep up on him in a moment. “I suggested buying _War of the Moon, _but Sitri said that a young girl would prefer to read this first.”

“Hehe...” Byleth giggled softly, startling herself. Gently she turned through the first few pages, admiring the elegant writing within, before closing it and looking up at him.

“I don't have much left of Sitri, given the way I left the monastery back then.” Jeralt acknowledged before removing something from his pocket. Byleth took a step forward and blinked in amazement when he opened his hand to reveal an elegant silver ring studded with amethyst stones. “This was the engagement ring she bought for me. It's something, isn't it? She was determined to 'return the gesture' after I proposed to her, said it was a tradition in Dagda. ...Give me your hand, kid.”

She did, and was more than a little surprised when Jeralt placed the priceless treasure in her palm and closed her fingers over it. “It's yours now,” He said softly. “One day, I hope you'll be able to give it to someone who loves you as much as she loved me.”

“I...” Byleth cradled her hand to her chest, opening her palm and regarding the glimmering ring with a mix of reverence and an aching feeling in her chest that both hurt her and warmed her. Carefully she picked up the chain the ring was strung upon and wound it around her neck so the ring was lying against her collarbone, then locked the clasp. “I'll be careful with it.”

“I know you will,” Jeralt said offhandedly, lightly ruffling her hair. Sadness lingered in his eyes, but there was pride there too, warmth – understated as ever, but visible, tangible.

“...Father? Are there any portraits of mother here?”

“Hm? Well, to be honest I'm not sure...but there's no reason we can't ask around. You want to do that right now?” Byleth gave the tombstone one last look before nodding affirmatively. “Alright then.” Jeralt put a hand on her shoulder and lead her away from the grave. She traced the ring with her finger as she shot one final look over her shoulder before she ascended the stairs and moved out of sight of her mother's resting place.

* * *

“So that's your mother?” Annette peered over Byleth's shoulder at the small portrait in her hands. “She's so beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Byleth murmured, looking down at the smiling image of her roughly nineteen year old mother. There was a mischievous look in Sitri's eyes that seemed to her more akin to Sothis than herself; despite what Aelfric had said about her being weak of health, there was no obvious sign of it in her skin or her waist.

“You look just like her, Professor,” Mercedes said sweetly, having set her tea aside to get a better look. “Green hair isn't very common at all, though. I wonder if she was related to Lady Rhea somehow?”

“I hadn't thought to ask,” Byleth confessed. “Though I suppose – she does have the same shade of green in her hair that Flayn does, doesn't she? Lady Rhea and Lord Seteth's hair is a darker shade.”

“Lady Rhea would be happy to tell you if you asked,” Dorothea hummed, taking a sip of green apple tea and resting her chin on her tented hands. “She's quite fond of you, you know.”

“I...noticed,” Byleth said awkwardly, glancing down at the portrait again.

“Hehe...you're so self-conscious,” Dorothea tittered. She reached out and clasped Byleth's wrist, rubbing her thumb against her skin. “In my experience, people as talented and admired as you are utterly full of themselves; yet you're always sweet and humble.”

“I'm the Ashen Demon,” Byleth reminded her, feeling flustered. There was something in Dorothea's smile and eyes that made her feel beautiful, and she didn't know what to make of that. “My talents have been a source of fear and unease by anyone who knew about me, not admiration. I've heard of a song before, the chorus of which referred to me and my 'monstrous visage'. This monastery is full of oddballs and weirdos.”

“'Monstrous visage?' That's awful,” Mercedes looked shocked. “Who would write such a song?”

“Likely someone who saw me in a fight,” Byleth said with a sigh, carefully setting the picture down so she could take a drink of tea. “Do you remember my mood in the first month or so after I became a professor? In the years before, I was even colder than that. I had no emotions. With that, I could kill without hesitation...or pity. That's part of what made me so capable.” She shrugged, suddenly feeling anxious under the worried gazes of the three girls. “It's no wonder that some saw me as a monster.”

“But you're not one,” Dorothea said with a frown, giving her wrist a gentle but pointed squeeze. “You're a warm, caring person, and you put all your will and energy into protecting us. No monster does something like that.”

“That's right!” Annette said brightly, wrapping an arm around Byleth's shoulders. “If thinking that makes me weird, then – then I don't want to be normal!”

“What is 'normal' even supposed to mean?” Mercedes wondered aloud. “No one really agrees on what makes a person normal. Lords and merchants alike change the definition whenever it suits them.”

Byleth ducked her head, embarrassed and touched by the display of affection from three students who technically weren't learning under her. “Thank you.”

Dorothea winked before sitting upright again in order to refill everyone's tea cup. Birds chirped overhead; the pavilion they were sitting at was usually crowded, but today seemed to be a slow day, because only two of the other tables were taken up, leaving plenty of room for them to linger comfortably while making conversation. Despite what she'd initially thought when he'd given it to her, it seemed that Byleth was destined to get a lot of mileage out of Ferdinand's gift of a tea set. Her semi-annual drinks with Claude aside, it was an easy way to spend spare time with her students, keep up with their moods and...it just gave her an excuse to spend some time with them. She'd tapped Claude for help finding out what sort of tea his classmates preferred; he must have let it slip, because both Annette and Mercedes had come up to her independently asking if she would have a drink with them. She'd quickly grown fond of these little moments, and wished she had time for more of them.

“It's too bad you won't be joining us for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, Professor!” Dorothea said with a sigh. “I was looking forward to seeing if the Black Eagles could avenge our fallen honor.”

_Not likely, _Sothis said with a mischievous chuckle.

_I wouldn't have used it even if I was healthy enough to participate, _Byleth thought dryly. _I thought this power was supposed to be for emergencies?_

_Hmph! You don't think helping Claude succeed is an emergency? Oh, he'll be heartbroken! _There was a knowing look in Sothis's eyes that Byleth most certainly did not like; it left her feeling unaccountably nervous and defensive.

_If Claude and my students can't claim victory without my help, then I've utterly failed them as their teacher, _Byleth responded with calm dignity. _If anything, he'd be happy that I have complete and utter faith in him. _

_Then you should say so, _Sothis grinned.

_What are you hinting at? You're playing some joke on me and I can't even get up in arms about it because I'm so confused. _

_Don't worry, you will~!_

_Your mercy is as boundless as they say, Beloved Goddess, _Byleth thought sarcastically before sighing and addressing Dorothea. “Unfortunately, I'm on bed rest for the next week and a half. I will be there, however; I'll see for myself how much you've improved since that loss.”

“This stinks,” Annette moped, nibbling on a muffin. “I was really hoping to try and take you on, too.”

“And why's that?” Byleth asked, bemused.

The orangette clapped her hands together. “Felix says that the best way to measure your improvement is to fight someone who's stronger than you; because whether you succeed or fail, you'll get a clear view of how you need to improve!”

Dorothea snorted. “Of course he would say that, the war junkie.”

Mercedes chuckled gently. “He doesn't really mean to be so aggressive,” she said in defense of her prickly classmate. “Felix holds himself to extremely high standards. His older brother, Glenn, was one of the youngest knights in Faerghus's history; he was tremendously gifted with the sword. Felix wants very badly to meet those same heights, so he pushes himself to his limits and has trouble understanding why others don't work quite as hard.”

That did make the songstress's expression soften a bit. “Right, he did have a brother, didn't he?”

Annette sighed. “Yeah...Sir Glenn died protecting Dimitri in the Tragedy of Duscur. His Highness said that without him, he almost certainly would have been killed along with his father.” She rubbed her arms. “Apparently, Felix was never the same after that.”

Byleth felt her chest twinge at that. “You know Annette, as soon as I'm cleared by Manuela I'll be available for sparring. If you want to join Felix and Caspar and Dimitri, you're welcome to.”

“Really? Oh, that's great!” Annette cheered.

“How are you feeling today, Professor?” Mercedes asked kindly, patting her arm. “Any pain or stiffness? Are you tired?”

“No more than yesterday,” Byleth assured her. “Professor Manuela says that I'm healing by the day; it's just that I absolutely cannot do anything to aggravate it before I've completely recovered. That's why I've been giving my lectures solely in the classroom and not setting up any practice battles. The more I relax like this-” she waved slightly to indicate their table, the quiet pavilion and the cloudless sky “-the sooner I'll be completely back to normal.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” Dorothea said, smiling brightly. “It's too bad you can't participate, but your health really should come first.” Then her eyebrows tabled. “You _scared me _when you passed out right after killing that monster. Take better care of yourself, Professor!”

“I'm trying!” Byleth protested, hunching her shoulders a bit.

“You know, it wasn't until I saw you collapse that I really understood _why _Felix is so determined to become as strong as possible,” Annette admitted, surprising her. The orangette tugged on a loose strand of her hair, looking a little self-conscious. “You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, and I've heard all the stories about what you've been able to do all on your own! So if someone like you can nearly die in battle against a beast...” She slumped a bit in her seat, downcast. “...then what chance do I have, if I don't toughen up?”

“You have _time_,” Byleth hurried to reassure her. “What happened in the mausoleum was out of the ordinary; most Demonic Beasts you find yourself fighting won't be nearly as powerful or durable as something supercharged by a sacred relic. You're not some helpless flower girl, Annette; just because you can't fight the way I can right now doesn't mean you haven't made any progress! I know I haven't been teaching you, but I have been watching, and trust me – you've improved a lot over the past few months. You trust me, right?”

“What kind of a question is _that _supposed to be?” Annette complained, giving her an indigent look. Byleth felt warmth rush up to her cheeks and ducked her head, abashed. “I've really gotten better? Mmm...I guess the battle will be my chance to show myself exactly what I can do now!”

“That's the spirit, Annie,” Mercedes said cheerfully. Her hands brushed over the empty plate in the middle of the table, and blinked in shock. “Oh dear!” She giggled. “It seems we've run out of snacks. I should have made more.”

“Oh nonsense, Mercedes, you were lovely,” Dorothea said, waving a hand. “You didn't account for my joining you, but you still gave me some of the fruits of your labor. It's no surprise we ran out.”

“Shall I bring the tea set back to the kitchen and give it a wash for you, Professor?” Mercedes offered. “Consider it my thanks for inviting us.”

“Thanks, Mercedes.” A thought struck Byleth, and she fished around in her pockets. “Actually, if you can take it back to my room afterwards, I'd appreciate that. I need to talk to Marianne about something, and unless I'm wrong, she'll be practicing hymns in the cathedral right now.” She pulled out her room key and offered it to the blonde. “I know this is a bit sudden, but-”

“Oh, that's not a problem at all,” Mercedes broke in, accepting the key with a smile. “Shall I meet you at the cathedral's entrance in a little while?”

“That would be wonderful.” Byleth shot out of her chair, waved to Annette and Dorothea, and turned to run back the way she'd come, dodging around the tables and chairs as she went. There was someone she needed to check on, and she didn't want to miss her while she still knew exactly where she was.

Granted, Marianne typically wasn't a very difficult girl to find – she could generally count on finding the blue-haired priestess-in-training either in the cathedral or the stables, and when she wasn't there, she was with Hilda. However Marianne was also a shy individual who was perfectly capable of disappearing when she wanted to, and Byleth very dearly wanted to speak to her. Fortunately, there was choir practice at the end of every week, and Marianne had -with some prodding from Hilda- started attending. Meaning that unless she'd suddenly fallen sick or some other thing had popped up out of nowhere that was precisely where she'd be.

The run through the main hall of Garreg Mach to the bridge that lead to the cathedral was an easy track...or at least, it usually was. Byleth felt her lungs burning when she pushed through the doors and stumbled a bit as she set foot on the stone bridge, wind swirling around her face. _Ugh...ah...definitely not recovered yet. This is embarrassing. Thank goodness Claude is out in practice flights... _She leaned one hand on the wall as she slowed to a pause, focusing with half-closed eyes on taking deep, fortifying breaths.

Absently she glanced over the side of the bridge, down to the grounds she and her students had been wandering across mere days ago. _It happened so fast, and yet it feels like it happened in previous lifetime. Was it because I almost died? _If she squinted, would she recognize the cliff that hid the tunnel they had entered the canyon through? “It's a beautiful view,” she murmured.

_'Most certainly'_, Sothis hummed. _'Does your chest hurt?' _

_'N-no, it's going away. I'm alright.' _Byleth gave herself a slight shake and began walking along the bridge, just barely able to hear the beautiful tones of the organ and piano from within the cathedral echoing from within the magnificent building.

The music grew louder as she walked up the stairs and into the building. Today the song being sung was the hymn of Saint Cethleann; it had first been heard when she went among the wounded who had fought alongside Saint Serios, healing even the gravest would-be fatal wounds without so much as a scar left behind. Now it was used to worship her and the virtues she represented – compassion, love, pacifism and unwavering devotion. Byleth listened to the Old Fodlanese words washing over her as she walked into the back of the cathedral proper and made her way over to the pew the furthest from the front where the choir students were practicing.

Marianne was standing at the edge of the line, her voice easily identifiable even among the many people singing in that moment. What surprised Byleth was the undeniable sight of a certain purple-haired standing on Marianne's right, singing along with her – if notably less audible. _Bernadetta? I know they've floated into each other's company before, but I'm amazed she joined in on choir practice! _Was this a sign that her most anxious student was becoming a little more comfortable out in public? _There's no way she wouldn't be here if Marianne wasn't. But still, it's good that her presence is enough that Bernadetta is willing to go to a public place to spend time with her. _

Byleth sat and waited, resting her hands on her knees as she listened to the song. When she'd been a wandering mercenary, music was a somewhat uncommon luxury. Even back then, she'd always liked any opportunity to listen to a good song; perhaps sensing that it had a calming effect on her, despite her lack of ability to truly appreciate it.

She'd arrived near the end of the day's practice; the song was repeated three more times before the priestess in charge released the students, reminding them that the next week was canceled due to some scheduling difficulties. Bernadetta unsurprisingly was the first to jump to leave, latching onto Marianne's arm and leading her around the pew and toward the back – only to stop with a startled squeak when she caught sight of Byleth.

Byleth got up with a small smile and gestured off to the side, so they wouldn't be obstructing the other students. Marianne blinked, and then nodded with a hesitant smile. Bernadetta shot one glance back at the approaching students, squeaked again, and practically dragged her blue-haired friend along in her wake as she dove into the pew, running through it to reach 'safety' (ie: her professor) on the other side.

“Professor,” Marianne said happily.

Byleth blinked, and then felt herself smile a bit. _Sothis? Am I imagining things, or does she look a little less sleep-deprived then I'm used to?_

_Mmm...no, I do believe you're right, _Sothis noted, pleased. _Marvelous. _

“Was practice fruitful today? You sounded very good. You too, Bern; I didn't realize that you had joined the choir.”

“I-I haven't! I-this is only a trial run!” Bernadetta protested, clinging tighter to Marianne's arm. “M-Marianne suggested it. S-she thinks I'm good at it for some reason...”

“But you are, Bernadetta,” Marianne said sweetly, glancing at the archer. “I've been listening to you sing while cooking whenever we're paired up for it, you hum when you work in the gardens, and you've always had a very pretty voice. You can always duck out if it's too scary, but if you enjoy singing, we can do it together – right?”

Bernadetta paused, wavered, thought about that for a few moments, and then sagged a bit. “It _is _kind of nice...” She murmured thoughtfully. “And it's less scary when I'm sitting with you.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Something flickered through Marianne's eyes that worried Byleth – it was dark, pained and...almost _guilty_.

_Well, that tears it. _Byleth thought very carefully about how she might phrase her question, took a breath, and started to ask-

“Um...” -only to be surprised by Bernadetta's expression sliding back into a familiar anxious worry. “S-So, how long have you been here Professor? D-did you just come in when we finished up?” Her eyes were wide and hopeful.

“No, I've been listening for the last three repetitions, why?” Byleth asked, blinking in confusion.

“Oh no...” Bernadetta moaned, burying her face in her hands.

“There there, Bern, it's alright,” Marianne said soothingly.

“B-But I butchered the Old Fodlanese! I messed up the song that Saint Cethleann created! S-_She'll _be so offended!”

“Wha...?” It took Byleth longer than it should have before realizing what Bernadetta was worried about, then she let out an exasperated sigh.

Which was less dramatic than Sothis's own reaction; the child ghost sputtered and cried, _w-what? She can't possibly think I'm going to smite her over something so trivial? Oooh, I swear, if I see a hide or a hair of that human **slime** that dares call himself her father-! _Her words quickly dissolved into the hot, liquid syllables of rapid-fire Old Fodlanese; yet Byleth needed no translation to know that whatever her friend was planning, it would not be a pleasant experience for Count Varley.

“Bern,” She said softly but firmly, casting a quick look around to ensure they weren't being listened to before finishing, “Sothis is not so mercurial she'd get angry with you for not instantly mastering a language rarely spoken these days. As a matter of fact, she's too fond of you to do anything to hurt you. That's a promise.”

Bernadetta let out a disbelieving squeaking noise that was so disarmingly cute and honestly kind of funny-sounding that Byleth had to smother a knee-jerk amused response.

“It's so strange,” Marianne murmured, tilting her head as she gazed at Byleth. “I've been praying to the goddess all my life, and yet suddenly she's within arm's reach of me...inside of you. Now I know that She loves and protects us not because I have faith in her, but because She Herself appeared and spoke directly to me. But I also know that something must have happened to Her while She slept, because She has forgotten who She is.” She pressed her free hand against her chest. “How could that be? What or who could have done such a thing to her?”

“I'm afraid that right now, your guess is as good as ours,” Byleth said with a sigh, clasping her arm with her other hand. “The problem is, I don't really know where to start looking to help her. I've been thinking about trying to research what inflicts memory loss on humans, but would that or something similar even apply to the Goddess?”

“Before the Great Resurrection, the Goddess walked among humanity in a mortal form,” Marianne recalled. “That's what was written in the scriptures. Of course, it's also said that when She finished healing the earth, she returned to the heavens.”

“And Sothis said that she felt very exhausted afterwards...” Byleth mused. “Maybe there was a window of time when she was still on earth, in a mortal body, before returning to heaven? If that was true, then maybe...oh, but why would any damage to a mortal form reverberate into her divine soul?” She frowned. “There's just too much missing information here...”

“Maybe you should ask Lady Rhea,” Marianne suggested.

“Hm?”

“The Archbishop is the keeper of all the scriptures,” Marianne explained solemnly. “If there's anything that might lend us a hint, that hasn't been spoken of in recent masses, she would know about it.”

“...You're probably right. I'm just at a loss as how to approach the topic without marking myself a madwoman and possibly a heretic in the bargain.”

“Tttthat'll be difficult,” Bernadetta said weakly. “The charges of impersonating the goddess or preaching false scripture under her name is heresy of the highest order. If we're trying to hide the fact that the Goddess is with you while dealing with these mysteries...”

“Then I have to present it as an academic curiosity.” Byleth sighed. “On top of all my class plans...I'd be loosing a bit of sleep, unless I restructured my schedule a bit. Or delegated, now that I have Yuri and Balthus to help me.”

Marianne nodded. “I would also be willing to help, if you want. I think it's important that we find some sort of answer for Sothis.”

Byleth swore she sensed her ghostly companion blush a bit. _That's good of her, _she murmured.

“Erm...I-I can help too, I guess.” Bernadetta said nervously.

“Don't worry about it, Bern,” Byleth responded. She smiled. “After all, I wouldn't want to interrupt your riding lessons. I'll leave the book diving to Marianne and Claude.”

“Oh,” Marianne said, eyes widening slightly. “He would decide that he needed to find the answer himself, wouldn't he?”

“I don't doubt it.”

The blue haired girl giggled lightly, a feeling that seemed to infect Bernadetta as well. “He's not actually very difficult to understand, is he?” She remarked. “Despite everything he's ever said or implied, he's just a curious, kindhearted person.”

Byleth felt herself smiling lightly. “We really should tell him he's been found out.”

“I thought he already knew that I thought that,” Marianne wondered. “He always seems to know, doesn't he?”

“Usually. I don't think he really 'knows' this, though.” Byleth tilted her head. “It couldn't hurt to let him now that he isn't the only kind and sensitive person in the class.”

Marianne blushed fiercely, looking away. “Professor...”

“Really. Marianne-” Byleth paused, thought about how she'd say this again, and then gently went on, “I don't know what's troubling you. It's clearly been weighing on you for a very long time. But I want you to know that I'm here for you, and nothing lurking in your past is going to stop me away from helping you. And it's not just me, either. The rest of the class knows what sort of person you are; you're kind, considerate, and very mindful of our well-being. So please...if you need help, know that you need only to say the word.”

“...I know that, Professor.” There was that anguished-guilty-sorrowful look again. This time, Bernadetta saw it too; she squeezed Marianne's arm in support. The blue haired girl gave a trembling smile in return. “Thank you...”

_What could strike such deep fear and despair into a young noblewoman? _Sothis wondered, her voice darkening. _I mislike this, Byleth...whatever is lingering in her past, she's afraid to speak of it to you and to me even now. What could leave her in such a state?_

… Byleth nearly bit into her bottom lip, but refrained; she didn't want Marianne to feel like she'd made a mistake. _If she can't say it to either of us...it's something she's ashamed of... I hope that if we keep repeating that we're on her side, she'll start believing it, and then she'll be able to tell us._

_I hope we can impress that upon her soon, _Sothis said with a frown. _I don't like that look of despair, Byleth. It worries me. _

_...Me too. _“Are you two ready for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?”

Bernadetta let out a half-terrified, half resigned whine while Marianne nodded hesitantly. “Claude has been talking a lot about strategy,” she said. “I'm not sure what to expect, but I think that he'll have a plan for us no matter what the other houses do.”

Byleth grinned. “I think you might be right. Shall we go, find the others, and have a proper pre-game meeting? We leave for the plains tomorrow, after all.”

Claude would tell her that no initial plan survived contact with the enemy; but even part of a plan was better than no plan at all. Which was why plans needed to be as flexible as possible.

She had complete faith he could handle that without any input from her.

* * *

“You look pensive, Professor,” Rhea said lightly as Byleth climbed the hill to her side. The archbishop smiled warmly when the younger girl hesitantly sat in the seat on her right side. “What troubles you?”

“It's silly,” Byleth said with a sigh, looking down over the field from this position on a great hill. Gronder Field was a gorgeous and scenic area, full of rolling hills and patches of forestry with many wide open areas beholden to nothing but the clear sky and blazing sun. In the middle of one of the highest hills was a small fortification containing a ballista; it would only shoot blunted magic bolts to match the non-lethal weaponry that everyone would be wielding for the mock battle, but its range and power would make it an invaluable asset to anyone who managed to capture it. Of course, getting up the hill to take control of it would be difficult; you had to climb up the hill and contend with front runners from both opposing armies who had the same prize in mind in order to seize it. And any time spent on seizing and holding it was time spent away from the other armies, both of whom would be making strides against each other and any of your people who were trying to form lines elsewhere. Lines of iron gates were set up to provide some defensive structures for the armies to exploit, but other than that each of the classes would have to use their wits and will to push back approaching enemies. There was no river to contend with, apparently due to a previous Battle in which a number of students fell into one and came dangerously close to drowning. Byleth scanned the field, and wondered how much help she would have been to Claude if she had been in the battle. Mercenary companies the size of her father's typically avoided wide-open spaces with little cover to speak of, since it was hard to leverage any advantages out of such terrain. She wouldn't have had too much active strategic know-how for this sort of battle to offer him; he would have to rely entirely on his own wits and whatever contributions Lorenz could give him.

She was confident, though. “I have this knee-jerk dislike of my students going into a battle without me,” she confessed. “Most of my brain knows that they're going to preform magnificently, but there's a little voice in the back of my head that's worrying incessantly.”

_Hey, don't blame this on me! _Sothis pouted. _I've been putting so much effort into getting you to stay calm, that's just rude! _

_You know what I meant!, _Byleth retorted in protest.

Rhea let out a light, musical chuckle. “I fully understand,” she said sympathetically. “It's hard to leave dear friends or loved ones to tackle a problem without any support, no matter how confident you are in their abilities.” She gestured to the field. “Think of it not as being unable to help, but stepping back to admire how much they have improved since you first began training them.”

Byleth bobbled her head. “That is the plan,” she responded.

She glanced over at Seteth. The tall, usually-stoic bishop was affecting his typical unshakable visage, but that was undermined by his constantly glancing down at the Golden Deer camp where Flayn was preparing alongside her new classmates.

“Seteth, have faith in your sister,” Rhea chided, having noticed his fidgeting long ago. “No harm will come to her! Even if there is an accident, there are bishops posted all around the borders of the field. These are perfectly controlled conditions; this is her chance to show you and herself that she is learning to defend herself well.”

“And her classmates won't let any harm even 'capture' befall her without a fight,” Byleth offered as well.

Seteth let out a long breath. “I know, you're both right, I just – I can't help it. It's only been a month since she began her proper training! There is precedence for her sitting the event out, but she insisted and...!” He actually wrung his hands a bit before abruptly shaking his hand and snapping to attention. Now he was standing so stiffly he could probably be confused for a statue at a distance. “Never mind, you are right. I must focus on keeping the score books.”

_That is not the same as relaxing, _Byleth thought but didn't say.

The 'score books' were an interesting quirk to the battle, as far as she was concerned. Whoever took out the highest number of opponents would receive a prize; what made that interesting is that the army who took out the most enemies wasn't necessarily the same army that _won_. This meant that each class had a compelling reason to rush forward and focus on taking out the others to the exclusion of all else; and by doing so, render themselves vulnerable. She didn't doubt that Claude wanted to both win the overall battle and claim the 'knockout' prize, but he was (she was fairly certain, anyway) savvy enough to know that said prize doubled as bait.

_Rhea is right, _Byleth mused. _There is something exciting about seeing how he'll apply himself and coordinate the others._

_It will be quite the show, _Sothis said with an undercurrent of excitement. _After all, he and the prince are both invested in impressing you~, I wonder how audacious their plans will be by consequence?_

_S-Sothis! They aren't going to – I mean..._Byleth felt heat crawling up her face and her pulse quickening with...excitement? Nervousness? Part of her was happy, _warmed_ by what Sothis was so teasingly implying, but the rest of her was a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings she couldn't make sense out of. ..._Do you really think...? A-Ah...!_

Sothis smiled playfully in return but didn't answer. Byleth's pulse was so loud in her ears she wasn't sure she would have heard her even if she had.

_...They're going to try to impress me...? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My precious children there are so many of you how do I give you all the page time you deserve I don't want to forget anyone! Ahh! (coughs) Anyway, after a couple you readers brought it up, I figured it made sense for Byleth to sit out of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion - both because she's put herself through the ringer over the past little while and that doing so will allow Claude to restore a bit of his confidence in his planning skills after the Divine Pulse reveal. 
> 
> As for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion... (breaths out, turns hat around backwards and cracks knuckles) It's gonna be a doozy to write. A three-way melee has a lot of things happening at once, and I want to do it justice since it's such a fun chapter to play through. Here goes to giving it my all!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri takes a gamble to see if he can outwit both Edelgard and Claude in the battle of the Eagle and Lion. However his heart may yet be the thing that trips him up.

Dimitri hoped he was projecting the stern, confident poise of a king his father had worn like a second skin all of his life. Inside his nerves were playing merry hell with whatever dark corner of his mind was dedicated to conjuring worst-case scenarios as he surveyed the gently rolling plains of Gronder Field from their position at the far left side of it. He settled for tapping his fingers against the training lance in his hand, a gesture that could be written of as idle.

It was worth noting that he wasn't just uneasy. Excitement pulsed through him, raw and burning with anticipation as he once again considered the field, the fortifications, and the 'plan' he and his fellows had come up with. He felt lightheaded yet simultaneously focused like a hawk about to dive upon its prey. _This is my strength. This is where I am at my best. _He rolled the lance in his palm, feeling an easy smile cross his face even as he examined the tempting prize of the ballistic even as he planned to avoid the obvious trap. _It's time to test myself and see what I'm made of – what __**we're **__made of. _

“Eager to get started, your highness?” Sylvain teased, patting the main of the beautiful black mare he'd taken a liking to during riding practice.

“You aren't?” Dimitri retorted lightly. He can just see the massed forces of the Black Eagles directly across the field from their position; the students of the class backed up by a number of low-ranking knights and foot soldiers on loan from the local Lord – Caspar's father. He had the same forces; men and women from the church, since his own people had precious few hands to spare while grappling with the internal strife still ongoing.

“Of course I am,” his childhood friend responded lightly. “It's just that...well, you don't really smile that easily these days, and you've got this glint in your eye. You're not nervous at all are you?”

Dimitri rolled his shoulder and shrugged. “Is that so? Good. I'm glad I can share my confidence.” Such would be his duty on the field, after all. The king couldn't afford to look worried or fearful; that would weaken the resolve of his fellows. Besides...he honestly wasn't that nervous.

There was an undercurrent of worry, but it was far overshadowed by his excitement, his desire to – to...well...show off.

He was determined to put Claude on the back foot – to make the clever and quick-witted brunette fight tooth and nail for victory. He wanted to see what his star was capable of when his preferred solutions were much harder to reach. _How quickly can you strategize, Claude? How swiftly can you account for the ebb and flow of battle and adjust accordingly? Are you going to challenge me wielding a bow as you prefer, or will you try a weapon you're less able with but a better defense against a lance?_ He wanted Byleth, sitting next to Lady Rhea up above the field, to see the man he was becoming – to show her that he wasn't a broken teenager she needed to bleed herself out protecting. That he could be – would be – her equal on the battlefield. _Let me protect you, Byleth. Let me help you. _

Confidence was running through his blood as he stepped out onto the field, dropping one hand to his belt where the training sword was strapped to his side. He glanced over at Ingrid, who was on his other side, patting the main of her pegasus and looking quite determined.

_You're going to overextend them, _his father warned him. _They'll get overwhelmed eventually._

_They're _mounted, _though. _Glenn pointed out evenly, a slight grin on his face. _They will take control of the battlefield. All everyone else has to do is keep up, and the lions will break through. _

_And let the Deer set up? _Father said, directing a pointed look at the ballistic.

_Claude wants to win, _Dimitri replied calmly. He smiled at a nervous looking Annette, who did her best to smiled determinedly back at him. Felix, who was standing on her left and looking up the field to where the Golden Deer were in camp, glanced over his shoulder with an unreadable expression before turning his back again. The gesture still caused a twinge of hurt, despite how long it had been since his old friend had rejected him. _He's proud of his strategies, how he can pull victory out of a hat. If he doesn't want to win both the battle and the prize, I'll...well, I know he does. I'm not useless at the subject, but I don't doubt that he's my superior. With that in mind, the more I can keep him off balance, unable to plan long-term, the better. _

He smiled. Something he'd absorbed from the tactical seminars Jeralt had headed that he attended was the most reliable plans were the ones kept as simple as possible. While lacking contingencies made him uneasy, looking out at the field he could see the beauty of simplicity quite well.

Edelgard's comparative lack of mounted warriors was curious – he doubted she didn't have _any, _they must be further up the plains, placed to counter the Deer – and also a significant weakness compared to his forces. Sylvain and Ingrid could break up her line with a simple charge, leaving her wide open to be overrun by him and the rest while the Eagles struggled to reform her ranks. If they took out most of his stepsister's army, they could then turn to the Deer and all but secure the prize for highest victory count, if not victory itself.

So if Claude wanted the prize and victory both, he would have to react quickly to the charge... Leonie, Lorenz and surprisingly Hilda were all mounted, along with a number of the infantry backing them up, but apart from that, they were also mostly foot based. Meaning they would have to play catch up...

...Unless they focused their whole efforts on capturing the ballistic. Dimitri grimaced a bit at the thought; he was sending Felix, Ashe and a number of his backup their way – a small detachment by necessity, since he needed everyone else to break through Edelgard's front line – in hopes of securing the dangerous weapon, but he was well aware that the Deer could overwhelm them. He was banking that the necessity of fending off the Eagle's mounted force would bog the other house down, giving Ashe the chance to climb the hill or allow Felix to take some of the opponents out. He hadn't chosen his old friend for the task lightly – he was their best bet at heading off Claude or Lysithea, being fast enough to potentially dodge their attacks and keep up with them.

But still...leaving the ballistic up in the air for Claude to potentially seize could easily come back to haunt him. Dimitri had made up his mind, however. He wasn't going to commit half his army to the grueling uphill struggle that had regularly turned into a bogged-down nightmare in previous Battles; he was going to aim directly for the throat and go for victory.

Looking up the field to where Claude and his classmates were encamped caused his eyes to drift upwards...up the hill overlooking the plains, to where Lady Rhea, Bishop Seteth and Byleth were all sitting, watching. _Can you see me clearly from there, Byleth? Or are you too far up? Ah, it's a silly thing to hope for. _

His father let out a little amused chuckle, eyes dancing with mirth. Dimitri tried not to blush and studiously avoided looking at the phantom image of the king.

“Is everyone ready?” Dimitri asked, giving himself a shake. He could see Seteth standing up and moving an arm...the battle was going to begin very shortly...

“You need to ask?” Felix scoffed. He spun his training sword, eyes fixed on the upper hill.

“I am prepared,” Dedue assured him, stoic as ever.

Ingrid rolled her shoulder. “Let's see the results of our training, shall we?”

“Ready!” Annette said with determination. She had a training ax strapped to her side, and the warm light of magic swirled around her wrists. Quarter strength, as usual; Dimitri idly wondered if Sir Gustav was here along with Catherine and Sir Shamir, watching his daughter's progress. Unfortunately he was keenly aware that the man – despite remaining consistently in Garreg Mach – had been going out of his way to discreetly avoid his daughter.

“I'm always ready, your highness.” Sylvain laughed.

“Let's all do our best,” Mercedes said, sweet as ever. _Beware of Marianne, my friend. She could cripple us if she gets close enough..._ Dimitri hoped that Felix or one of the cavalry going north would be able to capture the blue-haired girl and take her out of the fight; otherwise she could easily take out half of his classmates.

“I'll do my best,” Ashe promised as he strung up an arrow.

“I know I can count on you,” Dimitri said, feeling what might be an uncharacteristic grin cross his face.

_ **Bwaaarrn!** _

Any further encouragement or last-minute planning was cut off by the wail of a horn. Dimitri tensed up, his eyes drawn to the overlooking hill where Lady Rhea stood. _**Bwaaarrrnn! **_The horn sounded again. That was twice. The battle was upon them. Casting one final look at the far end of the field, searching past the ballistic mount in the faint hope of catching one final look at Claude, Dimitri turned his attention straight ahead. He could just see the Eagles forming up across from them, a line of mages and a few pegasus knights.

_ **Bwaarrn! ** _

“For honor!” Dimitri shouted, pointing his lance forward. A loud cheer went up from the Blue Lions, sending chills down his spine, before he lead them in a charge straight across the field toward Edelgard and the Eagles.

Sylvain and Ingrid naturally outpaced them within moments, hurtling ahead with lances at the ready. Dimitri distantly recalled Ingrid considering learning how to shoot a bow rather than continue her sword training, wanting some sort of ability to shoot at range, but ultimately decided against it for now since she wasn't a good enough equestrian to take both hands off the reins while in flight. That decision didn't seem to be affecting her confidence at all, however – she was actually ahead of Sylvain now, rapidly closing in on Hubert and Caspar.

_And it was paying off! _The eagles were scrambling to form a defensive line. Dimitri was amused to realize that the forces forming against them were strictly on foot – had they dedicated all of their mounted units to trying to take out the Deer? The charge had worked out even better than he'd expected.

Ingrid struck first, running by a front line infantry mage and smacking them with her lance, throwing them onto their backs and turning around without even coming to a stop. Her pegasus neighed angrily when Hubert threw a Miasma spell at it, stomping its hooves and rearing up on its hind legs. Sylvain caught up then, clashing with Caspar and preventing him from coming to his classmate's aide; the redhead threw his training javelin, hitting the brawler's shoulders and causing him to stumble backwards with an angry curse. Meanwhile, Ingrid was pulling hard on the reins to keep her mount under control as she drew out the wooden blunted short spear and flung it at Hubert.

Moments before the weapon hit home, Hubert had been surrounded by a couple other mages Dimitri vaguely recognized as a number of older honors students. They gestured as one, a black cloud forming over Ingrid. The blonde glanced up and then yanked hard on the reins, turning in a corkscrew style so the rain of firey projectiles hit the pegasus's wings instead of her. The horse whinnied in annoyance when they righted themselves, pawing at the air as Ingrid brought her around.

Hubert had been knocked to one knee by the wooden spear – it was pretty impressive that it hadn't straight-up taken him out; what sort of stamina or pain tolerance did he have? - and he was just trying to get up when Ingrid swung her spear out and smacked him in the face with the flat end. _That _put him on the ground, quite possibly for good.

That was the moment that Dimitri caught up with them. “Ingrid, Sylvain! Spread out!” He brought his lance down on Caspar's back, staggering him and preventing him from...trying to grab onto Sylvain's leg and use the momentum to swing up onto his horse?...forcing him to turn around to face him. “Take out everyone you can reach!”

“Got it!” Sylvain grabbed Ingrid's lance from where it had fallen and threw it through the air. Ingrid caught it – they'd been practicing that, hadn't they? Dimitri grinned in admiration – before clicking her tongue and urging her mount ahead. They flew over the stairwell to the ballistics toward Dorothea and the mages supporting her. Sylvain moved to join her, but Edelgard shouted something Dimitri missed over the roar of battle, and a couple of the infantry cut him off. The redhead tisked and urged his horse in a circle, keeping a bit of distance.

Dimitri now had more prominent problems on his hand – or, problem singular. Caspar was a handful in and of himself. The young brawler unleashed a flurry of punches that he had to duck around and dodge past. The prince had given some thought to taking up hand to hand combat; he knew that he was well equipped it. (better than most, one might argue) However, he preferred to use weapons; and he worried that if he got used to fighting with his fists, he would be more prone to slips of control over his monstrous strength.

“Come and get it, prince!” Caspar bellowed, swinging his gauntleted fists at Dimitri's face one after another. Dimitri dodged and slipped past him with a duck and spin; _a little trick he'd learned from watching Claude, _as a matter of fact.

Dimitri let himself laugh in response, basking in the jolt of adrenaline the words caused. “If that is what you wish!” He said in return before swinging his lance up.

Caspar blocked the first hit with his crossed arms. That was about what he expected; the prince didn't let that deter him; instead he pulled back, spun the lance around and struck at his opponent's leg. _Odd that I can't see Ferdinand here, _he mused as Caspar yelped before throwing another punch, which he caught with a wince before striking again. Around him he saw Dedue receiving healing from Mercedes, his heavy armor sooty from the varying magical attacks he'd been targeted with. Annette was trying to make her way around to reach Linhardt, who was providing healing and stamina to all of his comrades. Sylvain was whittling down the few mages that Dedue hadn't taken out, riding circles around them as he struck again and again with his lance. Edelgard he couldn't see, perhaps she'd gone north -

-and when his eyes found Ingrid, it was just in time to see a flare of magic fly from the central hill and strike her in back. The pegasus wailed and immediately dropped to the ground, lessening the distance Ingrid fell when the impact knocked her off its back.

Dimitri's heart jumped into his throat; even as he reminded himself that there were priestesses at every corner of the field to quickly respond to accidents, he knew well that falling from horseback was hard even on the hardier crest-bearers. Another punch from Caspar forced his attention back to the present; the prince gritted his teeth and swung the lance about, this time managing to catch the reckless brawler at the side of the head.

Caspar winced and stumbled; Dimitri took the few seconds that had bought to glance up toward the central hill; another flare of light flashed, flew out to the far field where the rest of the Black Eagles were trying to keep the field, and crashed into the ground. A lot of frantic yelling echoed from that area, flying even over the other chaos on the field.

Aimed at the far end of the field...

_Claude captured the ballistic!_ Dimitri caught Caspar's arm, turned around, and threw the shorter brawler over his shoulder as though he were a sack of flour. _Ignatz or Bernadetta must be manning it...damn it, I knew that was a possibility, but I had hoped Edelgard would keep them bogged down...I can't afford to let them keep it. _

He pointed his lance down at Caspar's chest, waiting a few breathless seconds for the blue-haired boy to concede with a pained grunt. “Sorry,” The prince apologized hastily. _Ah, I hope I didn't throw you too hard! _Caspar rolled his eyes a bit and waved him off. “R-Right...” Dimitri turned on his heels and waved in warning at Dedue and Mercedes, urging them to hide within a nearby thicket before rushing off himself. As one of the watching priestesses gently helped Caspar up and off the field, the prince was nearly hit by a blast from the ballistic.

The blast was much lighter than an actual, fully loaded ballistic used in war – a necessity, since there was no way proper ballista projectiles could be used in a mock battle – but that didn't mean that the magic bolts were toothless. The impact caused his legs to buckle and nearly caused him to hit the ground; fortunately, he caught his footing and managed to make his way into the bushes where Dedue and Mercedes were lingering.

“The Deer have the ballistic.” Dedue said solemnly; his breath was coming out in harsh pants, and his brow was heavy with sweat. Mercedes's hand was lingering on his arm even as she tried to peer through the foliage to see up the hill. “They now have control over the field.”

“Unless we climb the hill and take it out,” Dimitri breathed out, running a hand through his hair and growling. “What are Felix and the others doing...” He turned back and looked up the other side of the central hill, trying to catch a glimpse of his other classmates. Felix he couldn't see, but he did catch sight of Leonie running a circle around a blue lions cavelier. The orange haired girl, controlling the horse with her legs, swung a bow off her shoulders and took one shot, than another at her opponents. Moments later, Lorenz and his horse shot out from hidden shade before throwing a weak fireball that took the man out of the fight. There was no sign of Ashe, either-

-and oddly, he couldn't see any other Deer other than those two, who seemed to be wandering an empty field. Had they taken out the small force without him even realizing it?

Or – no, or who had Edelgard gone up the field to face? She'd felt it was important enough to ignore him, even as they defeated her front line and half of her classmates!, to go north rather than force her way through the fray to take him on. That meant -

“Claude split his forces,” He realized with a jolt of astonishment. “He sent classmates down both fields, two or three to claim the ballistic, and they all held their ground.”

“Split them?! When facing two armies?!” Mercedes said in disbelief.”

“Well, he's not really facing two armies now, is he?” Dimitri noted with a groan. “He let us send each other into disarray and grabbed the real prize.”

“What now, your highness?” Dedue asked. The calm in his voice helped ground the prince, who had been cursing himself over his miscalculation.

“I hope that Felix is still fighting,” Dimitri muttered, squeezing his lance with a scowl as he thought furiously. “Claude wouldn't leave whoever's manning the ballistic without a guard... Dedue, Mercedes, go and find Annette if she's still in the game. Then try to make your way back to me...” His brow furrowed intensely as he glared at the hill. “I'm going to take out the ballistic.”

“Are you sure?” Mercedes asked worriedly. “You'll have to run right up the hill...”

“I'll manage,” Dimitri promised. “And it will provide you cover. Go and find Annette; we need to regroup as much as possible.”

“Your highness-”

“Go, Dedue. I'll be fine!” Dimitri paused and took a moment to give his friend a reassuring smile. “You can't be at my back all the time, after all.” Then, without waiting for a no doubt mildly sarcastic rejoinder from his retainer, he stepped out of under the foliage and bolted toward the foot of the hill.

Another magic bolt flew out from the ballistic, flying over into the Eagles side of the field. Dimitri could hear the metal grinding of the device moving as its current wielder adjusted it for a new target. As he ran toward the step, he was cut off by a pair of Golden Deer armored knights – not Raphael, just the rank-and-file on loan from the church. Dimitri let himself grin, dodging between the men and letting them hit each other before spinning around and slamming a hard kick into one knight's stomach. The plate armor dented under his heel and sent the its wearer stumbling to the ground, dropping their ax in the process. Their partner recovered quickly and swung at his back; Dimitri fell to one knee, letting the weapon swing over his head as he shifted his grip on his lance and aimed upward. As the man took a step back to aim once again, Dimitri surged to his feet and slammed his lance against the helmet, tearing the visor off and knocking the head piece askew. The man yelped in disbelief; the prince chuckled, swiped the fallen ax off the ground and slammed it into the man's chest. Once again tossing him to the ground.

A yelp from up the hill drew his attention upward. The voice sounded like Ignatz, followed by the clashing of wood on wood. As Dimitri dropped the ax and began to cautiously climb the stairwell to the ballistic, his eyes quickly settled on the scene.

Bernadetta was perched on the ballistic proper, spun around and fumbling with her bow as Ignatz – her guard, left behind as the prince had expected – was struggling to try and keep back Felix, who was dirty but unfazed by whatever action he had seen when they charged in separate directions not too long ago. Ignatz was putting up a valiant fight, but it was clear that Felix was both stronger and had been wielding the sword for longer; as Dimitri climbed to the point where he could see the scene clearly, Felix swung once, twice, then disarmed Ignatz with a flourish before unbalancing the other teen using his momentum.

Then he approached Bernadetta, his expression serious as ever. He made to bring his sword down on her-

-when the purple-haired girl dropped her bow and flailed her arms in frightened alarm; the gesture threw off Felix a bit, slowing his momentum ever so slightly-

-and then Bernadetta's hands slammed into place around the blade above the hilt, grabbing it solidly and _yanking _backwards with all the might in her slender figure. Felix jerked forward, eyes widening; Bernadetta then _headbutted _him and wrenched his sword out of his hands before letting go; the blade clattered off the handrails and fell off the side into the grass below. Dimitri was frozen just a few seconds too long, stupidly astonished at seeing his brilliant swordsman of a friend disarmed so suddenly and so easily. This gave Bernadetta the chance to let out a terrified yet somehow still determined war cry, draw her own wooden sword and swinging it at Felix. Instinctively the blue-haired boy brought arms up to defend himself; Bernadetta brought her blade down fiercely several times, hammering on him before jumping out of the ballistic entirely so she could tackle him and force him to the ground. Felix's head banged against the top step judging by the pained curse he let out.

While breathing frantically, Bernadetta brought her sword up and pressed the smooth wood against Felix's neck, miming slicing his throat. “Y-you...are...done!” She said, her admirable determination somewhat undercut by how hard her voice was shaking. If her tone in that moment were a glass, it would be vibrating so fiercely it would be visible and rattle right off the side of the table. Bernadetta sat up a bit, pinning Felix via her weight on his stomach, and panted heavily. “Y-You're d-done,” She repeated a bit more calmly, which didn't really match how wide-eyed she was. She didn't look like she believed what she had just done.

Fortunately Dimitri had broken out of his stupor; he quickly crossed the rest of the steps, letting his lance drop to the wood. Even in a mock battle, he couldn't really bring himself to hit Bernadetta with a weapon; she was always so sweet and fragile, he was afraid she'd become permanently afraid of him if he beat her down.

Besides, she was slender and smaller than him. Tough as she was, he could overpower her without needing any weapon.

Bernadetta let out a shriek of surprise and alarm as Dimitri grabbed her under the shoulders and wrenched her off her defeated opponent, trapping her arms at her side and effectively rendering her helpless. “Hello Bernadetta,” He said apologetically. “I'm sorry, but I need you to stop right about now.”

“Eeeek!” The purple haired girl wailed, kicking and squirming helplessly against the intense Blaiddyd strength. Dimitri was impressed and pleased when she attempted to hit his face with the back of her head rather than surrender instantly as she was prone to; however, he rather did need her to surrender properly, so he shifted his grip on her and slung her over one shoulder so she was hanging partly upside-down. She squeaked, her flailing weakening as the blood started to rush to her head, and then went slack. “I-I surrender...”

Dimitri nodded and carefully let her down to the ground so she was sitting against the railing. He spotted his old friend and noticed something surprising...

Felix had pushed himself up onto his elbows; rather than angrily berate the prince for appearing too late, he barely seemed to be aware of Dimitri. No, he was gazing intently at Bernadetta, dark blue eyes wide with awe. Awe, and something else that Dimitri couldn't quite pinpoint.

Not that he had time to dwell on it, given the arrow that had just hit his shoulder. Dimitri cursed and dropped to his knees, grabbing his lance and dodging the follow up by ducking behind the ballisc while two priestesses appeared to lead away Ignatz, Felix and Bernadetta.

“Hey!” A familiar voice chided indigently. Dimitri felt his heart skip a beat, and he warily stood up to find Claude standing halfway up the stairs, bow at the ready. The brunette's lips were curved in an adrenaline-fueled smirk, green eyes dancing with mirth and battle fever. His shirt was dirty and sporting a sizable rip near his heart; both cloth and skin were soaked with sweat. His messy hair had been slicked back away from his eyes and his quiver was still half full. He was a bit bruised in places, enough so in fact that he'd clearly seen a _lot _of action.

He was gorgeous.

“Hands off my little sister,” Claude said, somehow both serious and suave as he spoke. Idly he spun an arrow around his fingers, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

_Focus, _Glenn chided him as his heartbeat sped up.

“Would that I could have let her be,” Dimitri bantered back almost on instinct. He marveled at himself; months ago, he never would have joked about mid-battle. He would have called it foolish, immature, a sign he wasn't taking things seriously. But right now, he felt _more_ focused than before; a heady chuckle escaped his lips. “Sister? You're letting yourself show your heart at long last?”

“Who could resist that face?” Claude countered. Then he strung his bow. “Now, are you going to give me my ballistic back or do I have to take it?”

Dimitri snorted and tensed up, taking a half step back. “You didn't think I'd make it easy for you, did you?” He dropped down to his knees, letting the arrow that would have hit him in the chest fly harmlessly over his head instead. Then he grasped the handrail of the ballista itself and vaulted over it, clearing it in one jump and landing easily on the floor of the fortification.

Claude's smile widened a bit even as Dimitri ran down the stairs. He jumped backwards, dodging the lance blow and then the next, ducking and sliding back onto one knee, bringing his armed bow up again. Dimitri quickly brought his armored arms up just above his plate armor, so the arrow's impact against his chest was a comparatively milder impact.

“That's how I like it,” Claude purred in response, those green eyes dancing. Then he drew again and fired, springing back to his feet and moving in a circle around Dimitri as he did so. Dimitri winced as this arrow hit his shoulder despite his attempt to avoid it; he then rushed forward, swinging his lance upward. Claude jerked backward, avoiding the hit; the prince pressed forward, knowing his opponent could shoot well up close he couldn't give him the opportunity.

Claude dodged a few times, his feet nearly slipping in the mud a few times, his attention solely on Dimitri. Not that doing this left him very vulnerable; Hilda and Lysithea were dueling with Edelgard, wearing her down under the weight of their combined power; Ferdinand and the others were nowhere to be seen; they'd already been defeated. Raphael was taking out remaining infantry one after another; Marianne stood nearby, alternating between blasting recovering opponents with magic and healing her classmates – giving them more energy.

Claude's gamble of a strategy had paid off for him in dividends; but strangely Dimitri was not disheartened by this distant realization. The brunette had his full attention.

“Can't have that,” Claude muttered; moments later, he caught the lance within his bow. He moved it until the tip of the lance got caught in the corner of the bow; then he pulled _hard_, just as Bernadetta had. Dimitri nearly lost his footing again, but he didn't loose his grip on his lance. His strength was good for that; he managed to wrench his weapon free. However as he recovered his balance Claude had skittered back a few feet – regaining distance – and drew another arrow.

“My kingdom for a better grasp of magic,” Dimitri said in exasperation as he dodged another close up shot.

“Range is everything, Mitya,” Claude taunted, that little smile growing a bit.

“So Ingrid and Sylvain have told me,” Dimitri fired back confidently. His eyes caught a glimmer of sunlight a few feet away. “Seeing as they got to their opponents before you did.” He dropped to one knee, avoiding another arrow as his hand curled around the discarded javelin. “I must be learning.” Then he threw it in the blink of an eye, a blur.

It hit Claude's left knee, causing him to gasp in pain and stumbled backwards. Dimitri sprang to his feet and rushed the archer; Claude saw this and took a stance rather than try to dodge, dropping his bow.

Dimitri tackled him; Claude dropped and rolled with him, letting the momentum carry him as he pushed the prince off – avoiding a pinning. Dimitri moved to grab his shoulders, Claude grabbed an arrow and jammed it into the shoulder joint. The blonde cursed and yanked the obstruction out as Claude turned over and came up on one knee, reaching for his bow. Dimitri quickly pushed himself back to his feet, picking up the javelin he had thrown and wincing as he took another arrow.

_This is a problem, _the prince thought in frustration. _It would be one thing if Claude was a usual archer, who is helpless when the enemy is right before them. However he is monastery trained and wits besides; he has more options. How do I remove them?_

Claude grimaced faintly when he reached for another arrow; Dimitri caught it this time, and saw that his quiver was emptying. _What will you do if I run you out of arrows, my friend? _His blood was singing in his veins; even the looming specter of defeat couldn't quash it. Claude's eyes flashed; he leveled his bow again.

Dimitri threw the javelin straight at his friend, aiming for his shoulder or his chest. He darted forward grabbing his fallen lance as Claude was forced to dodge; he kept moving, tanking a wild shot as he forced his friend onto the defensive again. _If I can just get him to drop his bow... _Dimitri tagged Claude's arm with a glancing blow; then moved in again to unbalance and then pin his friend.

Claude muttered something distinct that Dimitri nevertheless couldn't understand; he had just taken ahold of his friend's wrist when the latter suddenly let go of his bow and _dropped_. The abruptness of it, along with his sudden grip on Dimitri's wrist, jerking him off balance and bringing the prince crashing down on top of him.

Not that he stayed on top for long. Claude had kept control of his momentum, catching Dimitri as he fell and throwing him onto his back. Lightly winded, Dimitri grasped his lance even as Claude threw himself over him, pinning him via his weight on his stomach and his hips. He brought the wooden edge up; Claude ducked his head under it just barely, and then pressed an arrow against his throat.

Dimitri pulled the lance down so it was hitting the back of Claude's neck. The brunette let out a harsh breath and gazed down at him intensely for a minute before letting out a tired and lightly frustrated laugh. “Damn,” he whispered softly and lightly, “I'd wanted so badly to show you what I could do. Yet I missed a step.”

“You have,” Dimitri responded. Blood rushed to his cheeks with dizzying intensity; he could feel Claude's breath on his lips. Neither moved, trapped in a draw; so close he could see beads of sweat trickle down the curve of the brunette's cheeks. The glow in those emerald pools dimmed a bit, becoming a bit hesitant, a bit uncertain; he looked as if he wanted to back up but was held in place by something intense. “Claude...” Heart pounding, terrified that his secret was about to slip past his tongue, Dimitri silently pressed his lance down against Claude's neck definitively. Claude winced, and in turn, the arrow pressed harder down against Dimitri's throat.

_ **Bwarrrn! ** _

This mutual defeat heralded the end of the battle. Dimitri released his lance with a sigh as Claude scrambled off of him, letting go of the arrow and gently brushing his fingertips against the offended skin. “Hey, d-did I hurt you?”

“No,” Dimitri murmured, feeling like he was miles away. He tilted his head and looked at Claude. His friend was wide-eyed and surprisingly anxious looking...

And was he blushing a bit?

* * *

“Well done, Claude. I see your schemes are not to be underestimated.” Edelgard said gracefully.

“I agree. I do not envy anyone who has to face you in a real battle,” Dimitri added, rubbing his neck at the reminder.

“It's an honor to be praised by such noble, hehe,” Claude tried to make a proper noble bow, but gave up halfway with an honest burst of friendly laughter. Straightening up, he smiled at them and said, “in all honesty, you two made me work for it. What else can I call you stealing the prize out from under me like that, Mitya?”

“Good fortune,” The prince suggested, abashed by the compliment. “It was a gamble, and one I lost in the end. According to Ingrid, this is precisely the reason pegasus knights always fly out in battalions. Too easy to be overwhelmed or shot down otherwise.”

“How did you know that splitting your forces and fighting on two fronts while trying to take the ballistic would work?” Edelgard asked Claude with a faint note of incredulity. “Most would call that madness.”

“Most don't have Lysithea, Marianne and Flayn,” Claude countered before shaking his head. “Not that it had _been _my first plan; no, I had wanted to slowly advance, ambush warring pockets where I could and set up around the ballista. Everything after Ingrid and Sylvain started stealing our knockouts was me improvising.”

“Truly? That's...quite something.” A slapped-together plan in progress had taken down him and Edelgard?

“There was a bit of luck to it too, you know,” Claude said, rolling his right shoulder a bit and wincing. Dimitri remembered hitting him there during the battle and winced. “Don't make that face, your highness; I'm just a bit stiff. We were having a hell of a time keeping Ferdinand, Petra and the pegasus knights off of the ballista. If Felix, Ashe and the others had gone for the hill instead of engaging Leonie, Lorenz and Marianne we probably wouldn't have been able to claim it.”

“Well, you've certainly given me an object lesson in the virtues and dangers of siege attacks.” Dimitri said ruefully. “And here I had thought that getting bogged down in a massive struggle to climb the hill wouldn't be worth it.”

Edelgard crossed her arms and looked between them, a thoughtful but otherwise puzzled look on her face. “There something on my face, princess?” Claude asked jokingly.

“I'm trying to figure out when you two become such good friends,” His stepsister replied bluntly. “I had thought you would have driven Dimitri to frustration long ago, yet you can use that nickname freely without a care.”

“He tricked me into being honest with him,” Dimitri responded drolly, “and was so surprised with the results that he decided to linger and prod me until he had me figured out. Isn't that right, Claude?” He had promised to keep his friend's secret and he was going to hold to that; with that in mind, he offered Edelgard a partial truth – even though doing so pained him a bit.

Claude blinked twice at him, flashed a bright smile that had such terrible and terrifying power over the prince now, and cheerfully said, “I'd initially planned to annoy him into submission, but he's bizarrely immune to over-the-top prying. Must be a Kingdom thing; when approaching things indirectly makes you _more_ suspicious, not less. So I decided to be friendly instead. _I think it's working,_” He whispered the last bit in a faux-conspirator tone.

“Not by half, my friend. Not yet.” _I'd rather keep the Boar locked in his pen for as long as I know you. Lest I loose sight of that smile..._

“All of you did very well!”

Byleth's voice cut through the conversation and made his heart jump; Dimitri turned to see their friend and professor slowing to a walk as she joined them. She was smiling, bright and warm, her eyes gleaming in a way that reminded him of when Alois had first made her laugh. His breath caught in his throat at the sight.

“Thanks, Teach,” Claude said; there was a hitch in his voice that Dimitri didn't think his friend had noticed. “Glad you can see me improvising! You can put a little more faith in me now that your teaching is showing fruit, yeah?”

“You say that as if I don't already have complete faith in you,” Byleth scolded, crossing her arms. Dimitri, having never seen her express herself that way before, wondered if she'd picked the gesture up from Sothis. “Nonsense. I was waiting for you to surpass my expectations; and you were fantastic.”

Claude let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. This time Dimitri was sure he saw the brunette blushing. “C-C'mon, how am I supposed to respond to that? No fair.” He complained weakly, that small sweet smile returning.

Byleth giggled a bit herself; the noise was like music in his ears. “You did very well too, Dimitri.” She said, turning toward him. “You recovered very well from the ballista being taken; you made a new strategy and even managed to take out Bernadetta. That was quite impressive.”

“T-Thank you, Professor.” Dimitri stammered a bit. He ran a hand through his hair, sheepish at the praise. “I'm honored.”

“Edelgard...” Byleth glanced at the princess. “You fought very hard considering how quickly the tide of battle turned against you. I've seen lines of hardened soldiers collapse under less pressure than that. You have a gift for keeping people together.”

Edelgard swept a hand through her hair, looking pleased for a moment before sighing. “Not good enough, seeing as I have come in last in this competition. I need to train harder and impart more strength to the rest of my class.”

Dimitri glanced aside at her, hoping that he was just imagining that her calm expression was a thin mask over a dark pool of frustration. He wondered if he should say something – anything – when Claude clapped his hands together, drawing his attention once again.

“Well, now that the three-way battle has ended in an Alliance victory, I daresay it's time for some post-battle reconciliation. The victor has but one request – hear me out.” Byleth tilted her head and looked curiously at him. “When we get back to Garreg Mach, let's have a grand feast to break down the walls between our respective houses.” He sighed and pressed two fingers against his temple. “And by a 'grand feast', I mostly mean a regular ol' feast in the dining hall.”

Byleth smiled again. He couldn't be imagining that she was smiling more, could he? No, he was certain of it. “I accept your proposition,” Dimitri said warmly, and fought to keep a straight face when Claude beamed back at him. “Once we're back, let me know when preparations have been completed.”

Edelgard sighed but nodded along with him. “I seem to have no choice but to drown my sorrows in overindulgence.”

Claude laughed. “It's not a feast if you don't overeat! Leave it to the imperial princess to possess such wisdom.”

“That's not exactly what I -! Oh, forget it,” Edelgard groaned. Byleth clapped a hand over her mouth; her shoulders shivered a bit before she relaxed again. Her eyes were still bright with humor though, and Edelgard must have noticed because she huffed and gave the professor an indigent look.

The trip back to the monastery would be tiresome, but this sort of cheer would make that almost unnoticable.

* * *

Dimitri didn't remember the last time he visited Leicester. He knew that he had once, with his father, Rodrigue, Lord Gautier, Glenn, Felix and Sylvain; but the memory was hazy and faint. He knew that it had been a diplomatic venture, and that he had been – ten? Eleven? – and that it had lasted six days. Unfortunately, all that he remembered was that his father had been frequently annoyed after speaking with the various lords across their journey...and perhaps he and Felix had met Hilda at some point?

Somehow he didn't remember any parties. Which, if what was before him was a downplayed version of what the people of the Alliance enjoyed, was a damned shame.

When he stepped into the dining hall, the atmosphere was downright festive. There was more food to choose from and more delicacies available by half of what was usually offered; the wonderful smells were overwhelming and there was a low hum of dialogue as the Golden Deer – scattered across all three tables – shouted and laughed about varying moments of the battle. Claude was standing at the head of the tables, hands open in welcome as Dimitri and Edelgard both made their way in, at the heads of their respective classes. “Hey! You've kept us waiting! When the food is this good, that's practically a crime! C'mon!”

With a flourish, he trotted back toward Byleth who was already nibbling at her food. Dimitri made to follow them as everyone poured into the room with enthusiastic cheers when a hand landed hard on his shoulder. He was more than a little surprised to turn his head and find a very determined Felix standing behind him.

“I need your help, Boar,” Felix muttered, the clamor in the room almost drowning out his voice.

“Ah...w-what for?” Dimitri stammered, blinking rapidly. Felix didn't often approach him voluntarily these days.

“You know the Deer better than I do,” Felix responded, dragging him away fro the door as his eyes swept over the room, narrow and intense. “I need to talk to Varley...without her running away. She usually sits with Riegan, doesn't she?”

“You mean Bernadetta, right?” Dimitri said, completely blindsided. “Well...usually she does.” He cast his eyes around the room, seeking a semi-familiar purple head of hair. Fortunately, she was easy to find – she was perched on a seat next to Marianne, with Yuri across from her. “Ah, she's over there.”

“Good. Now come on,” Felix pulled hard on his shoulder, bringing him along in his wake as he approached the far table. “I need you to help make sure she doesn't run away before I can get more than a sentence in edgewise.”

“T-that's...well, I don't know Bernadetta particularly well, she's a shy girl...but try and speak gently to her, will you? It will set her a bit at ease.”

“Mmm,” Felix grunted in acknowledgment before dodging between two of the mercenaries and coming to a stop behind Bernadetta's chair. Dimitri, torn between wondering if he should try to redirect Felix's attention and or going to find another Deer to help mediate the situation, hesitantly walked over to Marianne's side and asked 'may I sit here?' She blinked up at him in surprise before nodding.

“Dimitri, Fraldarius, how unexpected.” Yuri said with a slight false airiness when Felix unceremoniously grabbed the chair next to Bernadetta – nearly making the poor girl jump out of her skin – and threw himself into it, reaching for the chicken in the middle of the table. “I thought you'd be poking Claude until he gave up some of his secrets.”

“Like that would achieve anything,” Felix said with a roll of his eyes before promptly angling his chair so his full attention was on Bernadetta. “You.”

“Eeep!” Bernadetta squeaked, shrinking back into her chair. “W-What do you want?” Marianne immediately reached out and clasped her friend's hand, squeezing gently while giving Felix a look that was somehow both neutral and a warning one. Felix bit his lip, gazing intently at the girl in front of him with a look that...was somehow both fiery, and yet soft? Was it admiration? Hope? Something flickered through his friend's face, soft and uncertain and – and –

Shy?

“You beat me,” Felix said, tapping his fingers -anxiously- against the table. “I've been training with a sword ever since I could walk, but you beat me in just a few moves. Yanked my sword right out of my hand, rendered me powerless. That's why – well –” His jaw clenched for a moment before he snapped out, “-I want you to teach me that move.”

_What? _

“I'mreallysorryIdidn'tmeantopleasedon'tbeangry – w-wait, what?” Bernadetta blinked owlishly at the boy, who alternated between gazing impatiently at her and nervously looking elsewhere. “Y-you...want...t-teach? M-Me?”

“Was I bounced off the ground by some other girl?” Felix asked dryly; he scowled in frustration when Bernadetta squeaked again and both Marianne and Yuri frowned at him. “_Yes, _you. When you ripped my sword away – I'd never seen anyone do something like that. You flailed your arms like a madwoman for a moment; then you were onto me.” He let out a breath and gave her what was, for him, a very entreating look. “You were my superior. I want to learn. ...Please.”

Dimitri, with some effort, barely kept himself from gawking. _'Please?' _Had Felix come down with a fever? Had he hit his head on the wood harder than any of them realized?

“I...” Bernadetta looked all over, as if she was expecting people to jump out of the woodwork and start laughing at the prank they had pulled off at her expense. She met Felix's eyes, turned a bright shade of red and ducked her head for a moment before looking up at him from behind her bangs. “I...it's not r-really a...I w-wasn't really...um...o-okay?”

“Good,” Felix said in relief, his shoulders relaxing. “I'm grateful.”

Marianne twisted a bit and gave Dimitri a questioning look. He could only shake his head helplessly, equally mystified by his old friend's bewildering behavior.

Yuri, thankfully, used the moment to guide the conversation along by asking Felix about sword techniques that he preferred. Felix answered, grudgingly at first, but as Yuri showed himself to be knowledgeable and a practiced swordsman himself, the blue haired boy became more and more engaged. Marianne surprised Dimitri next by offering a few comments about a style her adoptive father had taught her before sending her to the officer's academy, bringing a shellshocked Bernadetta back to the present by suggesting they could all practice one afternoon or another. Nervousness faded, and while Felix's attention did keep drifting back to Bernadetta, she was comfortable enough with Marianne at her side not to flee under his gaze.

Dimitri took the opportunity to drift up the table toward Sylvain and Ingrid, who were spiritedly speaking with Leonie and Lorenz. He quickly found himself dragged into a debate about mounted tactics, a conversation that quickly proved fruitful. Rodrigue had gone to great lengths to teach him now to ride, but he'd yet to fight real battles on horseback. Leonie and Sylvain, through their debates, left him with a wealth of things to consider and more-or-less solidified his decisions to learn how to do the same. Leonie was keeping up with Sylvain step for step, despite her low birth, while Ingrid alternated between snarking at Lorenz to throwing her own two cents in whenever something caught her interest.

Going to refill his plate caused him to be pulled over by Lysithea, who was determined to explain the virtues of sponge cake to a skeptical Cyril. Linhardt wasn't being much of a help to her, given that he was somehow dozing in his seat despite the amount of noise in the room. Dimitri did his best to help, though he felt a bit guilty about it, since in truth he couldn't taste any of the mouth-melting joys that Lysithea was extolling. Eventually Linhardt did wake up and started to offer his opinions, allowing the prince to slip away once again.

Hilda grabbed him next, pulling him down next to her while Ferdinand and Raphael arm-wrestled over a mug of wine with Caspar cheering them on. She enthusiastically compared their crests and asked him about previous fights he'd been in, extolling the virtues of the ax in the process. She'd also offered him wine, which he was careful on only sip despite the fact they were allowed to drink freely – previous Blaiddyd kings had been rumored (and in one case, the event was recorded) to accidentally _kill_ people while drunk and not in control of their famous strength. Considering the things he'd managed to snap while completely sober...yes, better not to risk it. Hilda's energy was infectious; despite the fact that he'd initially planned to retire early due to his inability to properly enjoy the food, he was invigorated speaking with her, and decided to linger longer even when he once again wandered to a different table.

He found a moment to talk to Edelgard when Hubert finally left her side; they discussed the strategies used in battle and had a good-natured debate about bows, nuisance archers and the importance of siege weapons in war. After that, he found himself talking to Flayn, Ignatz and Seteth – who were discussing children's books, of all things.

Dimitri was having such a good time, he hadn't even noticed that his ghosts had left him alone amid the cheer and celebration.

Spotting Claude stepping shakily out of the door, he followed his friend out of concern. When he emerged, he found the brunette coughing with one hand on his chest. “Claude?” He asked in concern, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Claude coughed a few more times, hitting his chest once and then straightening up. “Y-yyyup, juust went down the wrong way.” When he turned to Dimitri, smiling, the prince immediately noticed that his brilliant green eyes were a bit hazy and unfocused. “Should probably avoid drinkin' anymore...”

“You're at _least _tipsy, my friend,” Dimitri said quietly. “There may be wisdom in retiring shortly. You've eaten well, haven't you?”

“Aw, but I haven't gotten to talk to you yet!” Claude pouted, leaning against the stone wall and giving him a semi-indigent (was that what it was?) look. “That's no fair; you forced me to abandon a plan! You can't leave without letting me pick your brain!”

Dimitri snorted in amusement. “Promise you'll teach me how to shoot a bow and I'll let you,” He said semi-seriously.

“Really? That's great.” Claude said cheerfully, jolting to his feet.

Then he leaned forward and kissed Dimitri on the cheek, so utterly close to his lips.

Dimitri gasped and stumbled back a step. Claude didn't seem to notice this, his eyes flickering a bit as they refocused again. “I'll see you in the training grounds then, yeah~? C'mon, Teach is gonna get all the sponge cake if we don't go back now.” Then he vanished back into the dining hall.

The prince pressed a hand against his chest, heart hammering wildly. His skin burned where Claude had kissed him; he felt like he had been branded.

“What am I going to do?” He wondered, equally frightened and heartened. “What am I going t...to do...? …I...I can't...I...”

“Dimitri?” He gasped and jumped, turning to find Byleth standing in the doorway. She tilted her head... a curious, yet also sympathetic, look in her eyes and on her soft lips. “Are you coming back? I'm worried I'll need help keeping Claude from getting any drunker.”

“I...r-right.”

“Are you okay?” She asked gently. “You look almost frightened.”

“...I know not how to put it to words,” He confessed haltingly.

Byleth tilted her head, then reached out and grasped his hand. “You can talk to me, M-Mitya.” She stumbled a bit over the nickname, but smiled when a stunned but happy gasp escaped his lips. “I promise, you can tell me anything. I can keep a secret.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri responded before he could think the better of it.

_Oh, that's rich of me, _he thought frantically. _Yes, Byleth, please tell me what to do about these feelings that I have for my friend that I also feel near you. That doesn't sound pigheaded of me at all. _But there was so much pressure in his chest, fire burning through him, that he felt as if he didn't say something, it would drive him to madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hits head against desk) I have no idea why the Battle of the Eagle and Lion gave me so much trouble...maybe it was because I couldn't bounce all around the battlefield to different points to see the full picture, while sticking with Dimitri only gives part of it. Unfortunately this is the final version of the battle that I've been happy with, so I hope it's at least decent.
> 
> Also, more going on with the shipping! Poor Felix can't flirt to save his life; one-on-one training is his idea of a date. Meanwhile, Dimitri continues to struggle with his knee-jerk reaction of 'but I can't be attracted to a guy!' and his growing feelings for Byleth. Someone in Fodlan should really try and make strides in therapy; hey, that sounds like the idea of for a story - hey, no! Get back here! (runs after plot bunny)


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude watches Lysithea learn about their winged friends, sets out to help Lorenz with a problem back home, and learns something shocking from Sothis.

“Aren't you magnificent?” Claude mused, scratching the black scales at the base of the wyvern's neck. The mid-sized beast – a teenager by the standards of its species – crooned happily and bowed its head, nuzzling his shoulder. “How's your wing? Will you let me look at it, brave one?” The wyvern growled in response, pointedly nipping at his braid and pulling back to give him a _look _from beneath half-lidded eyes. “I know, I know. You could probably reach it yourself...but I just want to check, alright? I've brought compensation.”

He stepped to the side of the stable and grabbed the pig carcass with both hands, grunting a bit as he lifted it through the opening in the metal gate that was roughly equal to the wyvern's chest. Sure enough, nostrils flared and a spiked tale thrashed in interest; he'd hardly let the raw meat drop to the floor before the wyvern was onto it, nosing and licking it curiously before taking a massive bite. “The spices help any? Hannah says you prefer hot peppers.” Claude chuckled as he rubbed his hands clean on a nearby towel before promptly unlocking the upper half of the gate. Then he swung over it.

“Is that you, Claude?” Lysithea's voice drifted from somewhere behind him.

“Yes, your leader is here, though he's my errand boy at the moment!” Hannah called back at her from a few cells over, where she was grooming a pegasus foal. “Can we help you?”

“I'm sorry, I thought chores finished up after lunch today...” Lysithea said; she sounded closer now, her shoes clacking on the wooden, straw-strewn floor. Claude hummed a bit as he gently moved his hand along the length of the wyvern's right wing from its base. The ebony black webbing was mostly in tact, glossy and smooth until his fingers brushed against the edges of a long jagged scar. The wound had either been caused by an arrow that had been broken off/entered at an angle, or the wing had been caught on a particularly thick and _sharp _tree branch. Claude winced in sympathy, tracing the webbing from a slight distance as the wyvern paused in its gorging to growl in discomfort.

Hannah had been impressed by his easy willingness to get down and dirty to care for their winged comrades, something that named him her 'favorite lordling'. (Lorenz had made the funniest face when she called him that when they'd been assigned to the stable work together...) Of course, Claude loved wyverns and was affectionate toward pegasi as well; he barely considered caring for them a chore, if anything it bordered on a passion. Plus, playing with her Fodlan cousins did a little to ease his homesickness and how badly he missed Ivory.

“That looks like it hurt,” Claude murmured, twisting his head a bit to get a better look at the healing wound. “Good thing the membrane wasn't ripped too badly to mend; you're a strong boy, flying back all on your own...” The wyvern grunted, as if saying 'you're darn right I am' “Looks a bit inflamed, though. Amazed you aren't complaining about it. Too proud, huh?” He ran his hands along the scales of the beasts' front leg, scratching lightly.

“How's the wing, Riegan?” Hannah called, the sound of a wooden door clicking shut following her words. Softer footsteps followed in her wake; a curious Lysithea, wandering about.

“The scar's clean; there's no rot or buildup, but there is some inflammation. It needs a good soak in cold water, but he's proud and wants to ignore it.” The wyvern let out a small whine and twisted its head so it was looking up at him with beseeching golden eyes. “...Either that, or he hates the baths.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Hannah chuckled. Claude turned a bit, still patting the wyvern's leg, to see the mercenary leaning on the gate with a slice of smoked meat in her hands. “It's not universal, but experience has taught me that few wyverns like salt water – even the healing salts seem unpopular.” She smiled sympathetically at his scaly friend. “You'd rather have Marianne fuss over you, wouldn't you?” The wyvern perked up at the sound of Marianne's name. “She's sweet on the lot of you; I pity the fool who crosses her.”

“I don't,” Claude said dryly. The mental image of someone picking a fight with Marianne – sad, humble, soft-spoken Marianne – drained him of any potential sympathy for that phantom enemy. His scaly companion's tail thrashed almost as if in agreement.

“You're a rather close bunch, considering you all came out of the Alliance,” Hannah remarked, appearing at the other side of the pen's gate with a bucket and a large sponge. Claude ducked under the wing and took it from her, giving her a curious look in the process; her words weren't judgmental, just curious. “I've been in the Alliance before, even been to a couple of the swanky parties. Maybe it was just my hosts, but it felt like I was on a battlefield; I kept waiting for the various nobles to pull daggers on each other. ...No offense.”

_That was the first thing I noticed when I got here, pegasus princess. Hell, my first Fodlan assassination attempt happened at one of those parties. _“None taken. I'm the heir apparent to the Alliance; trust me, I have heard all of the jokes.” He let his free hand brush over the wyvern's head as the young creature whined plaintively at the sight of the bucket. “I know, big guy, but if your wing doesn't heal all the way you won't be able to fly well. We can't have that now, can we?”

“Constance said that pegasi and wyverns can understand us,” Lysithea said, coming to a stop next to Hannah. A quick glance over his shoulder as he coaxed the injured wing down showed that she was watching him carefully; the same way she did when she watched Byleth demonstrating something. “Does it depend on the bond? Or are they reacting to ambient magic? None of my textbooks seem to agree on the subject.”

“There are two kinds of riders that these companions of ours have,” Hannah responded, watching with a keen but ultimately satisfied look as Claude gently pressed the sponge down on the inflammation. The wyvern growled in complaint, slapping his tail violently on the floor a few times. “Hey, take it easy there big guy,” She said sharply. The wyvern's nose twitched, and his head sank down to the floor, letting out another unhappy noise. Hannah sighed and said, “the longer you put up a fight, the longer you have to put up with it.”

“Sit tight, big guy. It'll go numb in a little,” Claude added. He leaned against the creature's hind leg, shifting so he was covering the whole scar.

“How did he get hurt?” Lysithea asked, stepping forward and cautiously placing her hands on the half open grate. The wyvern snorted and eyed her through narrowed eyes. “Did he catch an arrow?”

“The scar was too wide to be an arrowhead, even if he'd plucked it out with his teeth. It was likely a tree branch or possibly a spear,” Claude said, pressing down a little on the sponge. The wyvern whined but didn't move. “Fortunately the wound was shallow, so he'll heal up just fine.”

Lysithea hummed in understanding. She tilted her head a bit, looking down at the wyvern with a thoughtful look on her face. “It's hard to have a fragile part of your body, isn't it...?” She asked him, her voice low and distant. It sounded like she was speaking half to herself.

“Something on your mind, kiddo?” Hannah asked curiously.

The white-haired girl made a face. “Ugh, please don't call me that...I hear it enough from Balthus...” She looked contemplative for a moment. “Well, I was hoping to speak to you about learning how to ride a pegasus. I know you aren't technically employed by the academy, but Constance said that you'd given her your time before, so I hoped...”

“You want to learn how to fly?” Hannah repeated curiously. “That's odd. Mages traditionally stay ground-bound; the famous formations created by Loong saw that as their optimal positioning.”

“Maybe,” Lysithea frowned. “But I'm not a fast runner, I can't keep up behind the horses, and I'm not good at taking hits either.” She tapped her fingers against the iron. Claude turned his head a bit to see her face; she looked grave, and deep in thought. Their eyes met for a moment, and she averted her eyes with a faint expression of guilt. “Constance and I have been reading in the library a lot for the past few days, and she can fly. She talked to me about it a lot, so I started thinking...if I can't keep up physically with everyone else, I need to work around my weaknesses.”

“...I understand what you're feeling,” Hannah said after a long moment. “But you're thinking about this a bit clinically.”

Lysithea gave her a confused look. Letting out a soft but ultimately sympathetic chuckle, Hannah straightened up and glanced at Claude. “Can you handle him from here, lordling?” He grinned at her in response. “I thought so. Walk with me, will you Ordelia?”

A little puzzled, Lysithea nodded; she trotted after Hannah as the older girl lead her past the wyvern enclosures back toward where the pegasi were kept. Claude tilted his head toward them, straining a bit in hopes of keeping up with their conversation. The wyvern snorted curiously, laying his head on its side so he could watch them too. Absently Claude reached out with his free hand to scratch the base of his friend's neck. A reluctantly pleasant trill was the response.

“...pegasi, like horses, aren't automatons.” Hannah was saying as she unlocked a pen further down. A soft, curious whinny followed the noise. “They have upper limits on strength and stamina that have to be respected, both in and out of battle. Stories talk about horses riding through the night as a matter of course...though I suppose writing about the breaks, food and grooming said noble steed would need wouldn't make for a very exciting read. Riding through the night without stopping would more likely kill your faithful mount than get you to your destined duel.”

“I'll do my homework,” Lysithea said earnestly, not at all offended. “I know a little bit about horse care; I do sit next to Marianne in class a lot. My pegasus will be the happiest, most pampered pegasus in any army.”

Claude could hear Hannah smiling. “Good to hear.” Another whinny. “This is Maea. She's young, newly trained. You want to give her an apple?”

“Y-Yes!” The small tremor of excitement in Lysithea's voice reminded him of the times Byleth had given out cookies or chocolate squares for thoughtful answers or intelligent debate. “Okay, okay...hi, Maea...I'm Lysithea...” There was a small crunch, the sound of chewing, and Lysithea cooed. “Oh...oh, aren't you pretty...”

“Pat her on the nose. Let her see your hands for now...she's a little shy, you want her to recognize you as a friend.” Hannah urged. Claude shifted the sponge a bit, patting the wyvern's back, murmuring encouragingly at the creature's miserable trill. “There you go. Look into her eyes; what do you see?”

“...She wants to go flying,” Lysithea said confidently. Claude could see her stroking the pegasus's nose while smiling. “She wants the wind in her mane.”

“Of course,” Hannah mused softly. “Pegasi and wyverns live in the air. They suffer depression and eventual muscle entropy when they're cut off from the sky; that's why they need to be taken out for flights every week.”

There was a rustling in a sack, followed by the crunch of another apple being devoured. “Don't overfeed her now,” Hannah cautioned with a touch of mirth. “Dinner for them isn't long from now.”

“Can I brush her mane?” Lysithea pleaded. “I can start lessons tomorrow, she's perfect, I don't know much about riding but I'm a fast learner, really you can ask the professor-”

“Whoa, easy there!” The mercenary was definitely trying not to laugh now. “I am perfectly happy to teach Sky Watch, but you're going to have to sign up for it. Have you told the kid about your plans so she can adjust your lessons for it?” Claude grinned a little at Lysithea's audible squeak. “She likes you, I can tell. Whoa!” He heard the tapping of hooves on the wooden floorboards, followed by a bout of startled laughter from both girls. “See? I think you can pet her neck now.”

“Maea...” Lysithea hummed. “We're going to be partners in the future. I swear it.”

Claude removed the sponge at long last, smiling approvingly when he saw that the inflammation had gone down significantly. “See?” He praised as he re-wrapped the bandages. “It's all worth it in the end.” He dropped it in the bucket and made his way to the front gate. “And since you've been so good...” Putting the bucket on a nearby school, he vaulted the gate and drew a hunk of smoked deer meet from a rack closer to the door. “You get a present.”

The wyvern scrambled to all four feet with amusing speed, given how he'd been sulking up until then. Claude chuckled and tossed the heavy meat in with both hands. “There you go. Now sit and rest that wing, okay?” If the wyvern fully understood him to begin with, he probably couldn't hear the teenage boy fussing over the sound of his teeth tearing into the treat he'd been given. “Geez, you might be giving Ivory a run for her money when it comes to food binges.”

He glanced out to his right and couldn't help but grin at the sight. An ebony-black pegasus, not too long out of foalhood, had stuck her head over the lower gate and was nuzzling Lysithea's face, nipping at the long strands of her hair. Lysithea was giggling in a way she usually avoided like her life depended on it, happily patting the pegasus's neck while Hannah watched over her, indulgent but alert to the elegant animal becoming _too _playful.

“Having fun?” Claude asked teasingly as Lysithea extracted herself from the pegasus – Maea's – enthusiastic nuzzle, tucking her mussed hair behind her ears.

Lysithea's very mature response was to stick her tongue out at him. “Even you can't ruin this for me, Claude! I'm going to fly...I'm going to be the best pegasus rider the Alliance as ever seen! Constance has a head start, but even she doesn't know all the magic I do...”

“Well, if you two are entering sky watch, you're stuck with me and Cyril.” Claude informed her, putting one hand on his hip as Lysithea blinked rapidly at him. “Hope that's alright!”

“Hmph,” Lysithea rolled her eyes, giving Maea one final pet before stepping back. “I guess...that's actually not too bad. You can be funny...s-sometimes...” She tried-and failed-to look indigent instead of embarrassed; it didn't really catch.

“Geez, harsh...” Claude said, hiding that increasingly familiar flare of startled happiness behind his usual smile with a force of effort.

_She's afraid of looking childish, but she does appreciate the jokes I make that raise her spirits...? I was half convinced I was the bane of her existence... this is w-weird...now that I think of it, Marianne is like that too...no matter how weird or inappropriate I act around her, she accepts it all with a smile. The only time she got upset with me was when I tried to pry into why she's so sad all the time...and even then she was more scared than angry at me... Raphael laughs with me all the time, Bernadetta hides behind me about as often as she runs to Teach, who she obviously associates with safety..._

_Would it stay this way? If they knew...If I could tell them..._

_I can't. I charm people, it's what I do best. Does any of that prove that they wouldn't reject me if they knew I have the blood of the outside world-?_

“...Claude? H-hey, what's with that dark expression? What's the matter?”

“Huh?” Claude blinked to find Lysithea frowning at him in concern. He forced himself to smile again. ...The gesture made his cheeks ache. “Nah, I'm fine. Just got lost in thought.”

Lysithea blinked, her frown increasing a little. “If you say so...”

Suddenly, erratically, Claude's thoughts went to Sothis; his mother's goddess, the scriptures of her saint proclaiming the sinful nature of his birth. Something bubbled up in his throat, hot and hard, compelling him to go find Teach and have a long-overdue conversation with the ghost of divinity – to ask the question that had always haunted him late at night.

_Was I truly not meant to exist? _

Claude took a hopefully unobtrusive breath to steady his nerves. He could feel Hannah looking at him with concern, and cursed himself for letting his guard down. How often had he slipped up since entering the academy? Why was he making himself vulnerable, letting himself be vulnerable? Dimitri was an accident, but ever since then he seemed to be letting go more, forgetting what it would cost him if he let down his guard at the wrong moment-

“There you are.” Marianne's soft call snapped him out of his spiral of self-recrimination; he and Lysithea both turned around to see the blue-haired girl standing in the doorway to the stables, waving hesitantly at them. “The P-Professor is asking for you. She sent Ignatz to find Balthus and Yuri...”

_Balthus and Yuri...she's bringing everyone together? I thought this was the free day? Hm, have we gotten another request to tackle bandits? _“We'll be right there,” he promised, turning on his heel to face Hannah. “Sorry, looks like we've got to duck out early. I'll make it up to you later, promise.”

“That's so sweet of you,” Hannah said playfully. “I'll be sure to remember that when you try and negotiate your way out.”

“Hey, I only did that once!” Claude complained while Lysithea snickered into her hands. “And I distinctly remember winning you over.”

“You have dangerous eyes,” Hannah responded, shrugging a little helplessly. “I am trying to immunize myself to them. Now shoo; go find out what the kid has in store for you.”

Claude chuckled a bit before turning to follow Lysithea to where Marianne was standing. The blue haired girl smiled shyly at him; he noticed that she was wearing a new necklace, a small aquamarine gem strung along a sterling steel chain. “That's new,” Claude said curiously. “A gift from your adoptive father?”

“Oh, t-this?” Marianne's hand shot to the stone and she ducked her head a bit. “N-no. It was a present from Ashe.” Lysithea's fascinated gasp made her blush brightly. “Ah, it-it's not – I mean...I-I wasn't expecting it at all, but he said it was an apology for confusing me for a ghost and running away in the middle of the night...I tried to say it was too expensive, but he insisted.”

_Is. That. Right? _Claude thought, firmly repressing a snicker. Then he started thinking; Margrave Edmund was a fairly liberal man by the standards of the Alliance, but he was conscious of his house's status. He would consider Ashe a good enough match for Marianne _so long _as he inherited the Gaspard Dukedom from Lord Lonato...otherwise he'd think the potential drop in family status would be too much to risk. Now Ashe was officially adopted by Lonato, which by the Kingdom's laws and standards meant he would inherit as long as he earned a knighthood for himself. Lonato's blood family could dispute it...if he had any; a bit of snooping just after the Magdred Way incident revealed that with Christophe's death, the Gaspard family consisted of the man's adopted children, a spinster sister and a barren cousin. So long as Ashe pursued his desire to become a knight in shining armor as Dimitri ascended the throne, he could probably start courting Marianne in earnest even now without her father making too many disapproving noises.

And it would be pretty easy to disrupt any other grumbling that might pop up in the meantime. A few subtle words here and there, paired up with how earnest, sweet and determined Ashe was by nature would probably be more than enough.

_They'd be a great match, _Claude thought idly. _Marianne brings political experience and prestige, Ashe brings street wisdom and a perspective other nobles wouldn't have. And putting that aside, their personalities are complimentary. I wonder if Marianne will become confident enough to make a move herself...? She was clearly touched by the gift, since she's wearing it. _

Something to keep in mind if that ball that the servants were whispering about was an upcoming reality.

The walk back to the Golden Deer classroom was peaceful, him and Lysithea gently teasing Marianne over the gift and prodding her for her opinion of Ashe. She stammered and babbled a bit, admitting that he was kind and friendly towards her, and they had been in riding lessons together, but she was quick to plead that it was no courting gift – merely a thoughtful one. Claude asked if Hilda knew, and in response Marianne almost begged him to keep it a secret. If Hilda knew, the whole of Garreg Mach would know in very short order and “I-I'm not ready for that! It would be t-to quick!”

Honestly Claude was just glad that Marianne was reacting to the teasing, rather than crumbling into herself as she so often did. Usually she was so melancholic that it was as if she was permanently engulfed in the blackness of the moonless night. Talking to her was like speaking to someone trapped in the depths of a frozen well; you had to shout down it to know that she was still there. He could tell that Teach watched her with concern, and Hilda did as well; but no one was quite certain how they could pull her out of that darkness...

After all, Marianne had not even hinted at what its source might be. Claude didn't believe that her adoptive father was to blame; cold and self-contained the man may be, but he'd gotten the sense that Margrave Edmund genuinely valued her. Proof of that lay in the man politely telling Lord Holst to inform his father that he would prefer any man looking to marry his daughter come and court her in person, and that she herself would give consent to the match.

_Not a lot of lords give their daughters that courtesy...right, grandfather? _

Upon entering the Golden Deer classroom, Claude was a little surprised to see Byleth sitting on the edge of her desk with Lorenz standing next to her. She looked serious...which by her standards meant her expression was slightly more severe than usual... while Lorenz was frowning, his mood bouncing somewhere between concern and anticipation. Bernadetta, Yuri, Raphael, Hapi and Ignatz were already in the room; Hilda was still missing, probably looking for Cyril, Balthus and Constance. “Here we are,” He said lightly, dropping into his usual desk. “What's going on, Teach?”

“Lorenz has a proposal for the entire class,” Byleth responded. “I'd rather wait until the rest catch up so I don't have to explain it more than once.”

Well, that was slightly ominous. Claude returned his attention to Lorenz, who scowled at him briefly before (oddly enough) averting his eyes; when his gaze landed on Byleth, he flinched ever so slightly and quickly turned to the doorway as though waiting impatiently for the last of their classmates/adjutants to arrive. _Whoa. What the hell punched a hole in your unflappable confidence, Lorenz? I thought Teach's lectures were mostly water off your back. _

Fortunately, they weren't kept waiting long. Cyril was the first through the door, bow slung over his shoulder and looking a little disgruntled – Hilda must have interrupted his archery practice with Shamir. The kid did brighten up a bit when Byleth smiled and waved at him, urging him to take a seat next to Lysithea. The white haired girl leaned over Cyril's shoulder and murmured something indistinct practically the moment he sat down; he nodded and made an odd gesture in his hands, like he was turning a page. Claude wasn't given long to puzzle over the implications; Balthus strode in the door with an annoyed Hilda on his heels. Constance was last, her subdued sunlight-based personality melting away as she strode through the doors; her shoulders straightened and her confident smile beamed over them as she strode over to Hapi's side.

“Now that everyone's here, there's a request made of the house that Lorenz would like to put to us.” Byleth announced, resting an arm on her knee. “There has been a disturbance in the lands of House Gloucester in the Alliance, and Lord Gloucester has called Lorenz home to handle the matter.” She nodded at the purple-haired boy as murmurs erupted throughout the room.

No one, Claude noticed, looked particularly surprised by this. Even Bernadetta, Cyril and Constance, otherwise the ones least acquainted with Alliance Politics, seemed to understand this as a mundane affair rather than an alarming signal of upheaval. Something he'd quickly learned about his mother's homeland was that while the Alliance was easily the most meritocratic of the three kingdoms of Fodlan, and the one with the laxest boundaries between high, middle and lower class, it was also a breeding ground for callous opportunists.

“My father has been having some difficulty with Acheron.” Lorenz said. Claude couldn't and didn't bother to hold back an exasperated sigh, and for once that didn't earn him a disapproving snort or anything of the like from his 'rival'. “He's dredged up an old border dispute along a river that had been settled years ago, and he's begun to dispatch military force.”

“What kind of force?” Yuri asked casually, bringing one foot up onto the bench. “His personal armed forces, or whatever mercenaries he could find that were willing to work dirt cheap for a little political recognition?”

“Father described them as a mix of the two. Nothing particularly impressive. Honestly, it would be an easy rout...unfortunately, my father is also attending to far more pressing matters at the moment, which means that the border is vulnerable. Which is why he called me home.” Lorenz swept his eyes over the room. “However, I am loathe to go alone. So this is what I propose to all of you, my classmates – that we go out in force as we did when we traveled to Duscur with Prince Dimitri. The expedition would be factored into the monthly evaluation, and we shall be lead by our Professor, as ever.”

Claude's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. _Did...did you just cede command of a mission your father asked of you to Teach? A mission on what will eventually be __**your **__lands? Effectively giving the glory of victory mainly to her? Who are you and what have you done with Lorenz? _

“I'm obligated to remind everyone that this will be a dangerous expedition, just as the one to Duscur was.” Byleth cut in before the murmurs could turn into a flurry of questions. “I've made my decision to accompany Lorenz, who needs to return as a matter of duty, but if there is anyone here who does not feel prepared to face a minor noble's miss-matched attempt of a border raid, say so now. No one is required to come.”

“C'mon, Professor,” Leonie protested. “We fought that horrible demon down in the Masoleum! Compared to that, a bunch of knights and mercenaries serving under some wannabe social climber is nothing. I'm going with you!”

“Well, I can hardly let our lovely professor go into battle without backup.” Yuri said adominishingly. “She doesn't take good enough care of herself.”

“Excuse me?” Byleth blurted out, eyes widening.

Yuri gave her a knowing look. “Come now; in the time that I've known you, you've managed to knock yourself out twice and nearly died once, and that's when you had more than Lorenz for backup. How am I supposed to sleep knowing you're out there without a bunch of us to watch your back?”

“Yeah Teach, what are you thinking?” Claude teased, while very firmly banishing the memory of her collapsing on her knees coughing up blood. Of her thrashing in the thralls of magical exhaustion, watching her _die_ in front of him...yeah, he was going. There was no question about it.

He was wonderfully rewarded by the sight of Byleth – the stoic, steady and unreadable Ashen Demon – turning a flaming red and sputtering incomprehensibly in protest.

“I'm ready to go!” Raphael said jovially. “I'm never gonna be a proper knight if I don't start tackling situations like this; besides, you've been training me for months now! They'll take one look at my muscles and run for the hills.”

“I don't know about that,” Lysithea mumbled before nodding and raising her voice. “But they're right, Professor. We took on the Duscur Valley and came out without casualties, and we had to hold back to achieve our desired victory. Without that restriction...” She smiled. “Leonie is right; they can't be more dangerous than that beast.”

“I...I'll go with you,” Bernadetta squeaked out. Her hands were still shaky at the idea, but she put on a brave face when both Byleth and Lorenz glanced at her. “I-I think I'm ready.”

“There's nothing we can't achieve together!” Ignatz chimed in. “So let's go, Lorenz. We're behind you!”

“I've been in scrapes with bounty hunters for years now, Prof! This is nothin'; let's go!” Balthus said, punching his fists together. _You're indebted to him, aren't you? You must be spoiling for a fight if you're going to walk into his territory, even with Teach leading the charge. _

“That's nothing something to be proud of, Baltie...” Hilda groaned before sighing. “Ignatz is right, Lorenz. When do we leave?”

* * *

The answer to that was 'tomorrow morning'. With Lady Rhea's blessing, the Golden Deer house set out with a vanguard of Serios Knights for backup, heading for the Alliance and beyond that the lands of Count Gloucester. The journey would take a week and a half, slightly shorter than the road to Duscur. Claude ruefully wished he hadn't fudged his initial riding test to hide his heritage; he would have given just about anything to have Ivory with him. He missed flying _so much_. Horses were alright, but he _longed _to feel the wind in his hair, sweeping over the trees on his oldest friend's back.

Riding with Teach did make up the difference, though. He'd nearly jumped out of his skin when she invited him, this time on the back of a horse rather than a pegasus. Taking a few seconds to chastise himself for acting like Aisling after his mother had slipped her another Fodlan romantic fable, he'd accepted. Now he was wondering if she could feel his heartbeat against her back, or hear it pounding. He was sitting behind her, hands on her hips, trying to ignore the feeling of her muscles under his fingers.

_Wait...so you fell in love with mom after she punched you across the room? _

_She was the fiercest woman I'd ever laid eyes on, _his father had laughed. _She put herself between her school friends and I, and threatened to cut me down if I didn't back off. She was magnificent. How could I not adore her for that and still call myself a prince of Almyra? _

_My princely tastes my yet be the death of me, dad, _Claude thought helplessly. _I'm trapped with a gorgeous, **oblivious** blonde on one side and an emotionally repressed **utterly devoted **goddess container of a teacher on the other. Either one could quite possibly result in me waking up in the bottom of a river. _

Not that he thought Dimitri would allow anyone to attempt to dump his corpse in the river; that's what assassins were for, and Faerghus had a _vested interest _in him marrying a woman and having children with her. As for Teach – well, he could get her in serious trouble with the faculty if they thought she was flirting with him, so it was better to keep his attraction to her own the down-low.

...But it was increasingly difficult.

Byleth was willing to die for him, valued him so much she was willing to risk everything by overusing power of the goddess. He wanted to tell her that he would protect her too, take her in his arms and plead with her to give him some of her burdens. He wanted to coax a smile and a laugh out of her as often as he could just to see her eyes light up.

And Dimitri...oh, Dimitri. Every time he, in his oblivious sincerity, called him handsome and insisted that he was a remarkable person, the struggle to keep down that mask that he'd worn for years the mask that _saved his life _time and again was so _tangibly _difficult.

Attraction, it was an attraction. He was a teenaged boy, it happened. If it was more than that, then he was creeping towards the L-word, and even _thinking _about the L-word was a slippery slope that had no bottom and if he started to fall he would never stop.

The first girl who had slept with him had done so to slip him poison. His cousin had proclaimed affection for him while believing that he was about to watch him die. The false smiles of the Alliance had only served to reinforce the lessons he'd learned as a child; that love was for people who weren't of two worlds. That he couldn't trust the L-word from anyone other than his mother and father.

That he couldn't ever afford to leave himself so vulnerable as to...to love another person. The thought of taking that plunge, of giving in and giving everything to someone only to be ultimately callously used, betrayed or _both_...

There was no crueler way to kill a man. Of that, Claude was confident.

If only knowing that was enough to quell the raging storm of emotions the two were causing in him...

Byleth, if she was aware of his inner turmoil, quickly both understood that he didn't want to talk about it and respected it. Instead she tried to draw his attention elsewhere by talking about the ring of her mother's that Jeralt had given her. Thankfully she no longer sounded quite so distant when she talked about Sitri Eisner; he hoped it was a sign that she wasn't trapped in what-ifs or the confusing, mysterious circumstances in which her mother had lived and died. Their conversation about the gem lead to Hilda butting in to talk about her own passion for weaving bracelets and other such jewelry; Balthus took this as an invitation to talk about some of her earliest efforts from childhood which she did not appreciate in the slightest – even though it made Marianne giggle a bit, which the pinkette declared 'staved off his execution'.

Hilda was a good friend, even when she wasn't directly trying to be one. _Or maybe she was, because she's oddly good at guessing when I'm in a bad mood._ He was a little jealous Balthus currently more-or-less held her complete attention, but it wasn't surprising. He was an old friend she hadn't seen in years. They had plenty of catching up to do.

Unfortunately, conversation and jokes were about the only distraction from how dull, monotonous and relentlessly _hill strewn _their ride was. They went up and down so many inclines that Claude occasionally closed his eyes to see if he could trick himself into believing he was on a rather slow flight; it was a hard sell. At least the scenery when they entered Duscur was fascinating and beautiful to behold; while the lands of the Alliance were pretty enough, they were constantly interrupted by border and toll checkpoints. Which rather sucked the wonder out of their travels, in his opinion.

Sleep, either in tents or in the various inns they paused at, gave him little respite from his distractions.

* * *

_The kiss was a phantom one, his mind filling in the unknown taste even as their lips parted. He smiled down at the figure sprawled beneath him, the sun making his golden hair glow like polished treasure. The prince laughs in that sweetly nervous way he's come to treasure, blushing and looking away as if he can't understand why he's being admired. _

_He can't have that. “Look at me,” He purrs, the silky smooth tone one he'd used for seduction before; but things time its tinged with a plea, a soft longing adding a sweetness to it that hadn't been there before. Those sapphire blue eyes flicker back up to him, so uncertain, so timid; he chuckled before lowering his head and pressing kisses along his jaw, his hands wandering lower..._

_The image melted away and was replaced by another. She was sitting with her back to him, looking curiously down the hill to the lake he'd played in as a child. Her hand raised to the sky as if trying to catch the wind between her fingers; he crept up behind her and wrapped his arms around her neck._

_She laughed – bright and warm- and leaned back against his chest. “There you are,” She whispered, tilting her head back so her neck was bared to him. He traced kisses along her veins, hearing the thud of a rapid heartbeat as his lips caressed the skin above her pulse point. _

“_Khalid...I...”_

* * *

Claude shot up in bed, his skin hot and his blood rushing. Running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, he let out a harsh breath and shoved the blankets aside. Sleep wasn't going to come easily with _that _on his mind.

Grabbing a pair of trousers and a loose shirt, he partially dressed for tomorrow and left his room. Taking care to walk quietly past his classmate's inn rooms, he wandered down the hall before deciding that he needed a drink..._might as well see if there's anyone in the bar. _

Taking the stairwell to the second floor, Claude paused in surprise when he entered the bar room...

A green-haired figure was leaning on a windowsill, looking up at the moon and star-filled sky with rapture. She was cradling a steaming pot in her hands; it smelled like chamomile tea. If her floor-length hair wasn't a hint to her identity, the fact that she was wearing Teach's night robes settled it. Even setting that aside, Sothis had made such a _memorable_ first impression he couldn't have confused her for someone else if he tried. He couldn't help but take in a sharp breath at the sight of her; the fact that he was face to face with the _goddess _was enough to punch through his typical bravado. She didn't seem to notice him at first, but when he got within a few feet of her, she tilted her head and then gasped in pleased delight.

“Ah, Claude! How nice for one of my favorite delinquents to be awake at this hour.” Her brow wrinkled. “Well, nice for me, I suppose. Why are you awake? Even Byleth, the silly girl, conceded to the need for sleep a while ago.”

“Isn't she awake, though? I mean, you're...” Claude trailed off in favor of vaguely waving to indicate the body Sothis was inhabiting.

“Nope, though I can see why you'd be confused.” Sothis said with a shrug. “Byleth is completely asleep; she isn't privy to our conversation, except perhaps on an unconscious level. This her body, but since my power is running through it at the moment, she won't wake up feeling tired.” She straightened up and brandished the pot under her nose. “But now that you're here, _come! _You promised me tea and witty conversation.”

“I can't believe you know about that...” Claude said even as he trailed after her; “I didn't see Teach anywhere! Just Ignatz and a couple of servants.” Sothis turned slightly and arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeah yeah, I'm not backing out, I'm just boggled.”

The goddess giggled a bit, setting the pot down on the bar table before hoisting herself up onto the high chair so she could reach the glasses. Claude, meanwhile, couldn't help but boggle a bit at how cheerful and almost childlike the all-powerful goddess his mother had taught him of was. Everything else was the same...the compassion, the warmth (_he could still see her embracing Marianne in his mind's eye_) and the protectiveness was all real. It was kind of dizzying.

“That's an odd look you're wearing,” Sothis said, pushing a tall glass of tea his way. “A silver for your thoughts?”

“...It's hard to believe that I'm actually talking to you...” Claude said, daring to toe the line, to see how 'heretical' his questions could get before the goddess began to get annoyed. “My mother prayed to you for as long as I could remember, but I never really saw your influence in my life...because you were asleep, I guess.”

Sothis frowned a bit. “I suppose that makes perfect sense...” Claude tensed a bit – had he offended her? – only for the goddess to shake her head. “I've been trying so hard to remember...Dimitri was even kind enough to give me a full prayer book shortly before we left...but no matter how I try, my memory is all blank. I can't figure out what happened to Byleth and I.” She scrubbed her face, grumbling something he couldn't understand, before taking her glass and drinking deeply. “...Hmm, you're right. This is nice tea.” She smiled brightly at him.

He managed to smile back, even as cold current began to run through him; an old question was bubbling in the bottom of his throat, trying to nudge its way to the surface even as he tried to swallow it down. “You should try Almyran Pine. It's a sharper flavor, but there's nothing more pleasant after a hard day's work.”

Sothis hummed curiously, a thoughtful look on her face. “Mmm, Byleth does like it quite a bit. I'll have to try it once we return to the monastery.”

“Teach has good taste.”

Sothis tilted her head to the side and regarded him with golden-green eyes. It was strange that, despite her divinity, he could read her expression same as a regular human. She was considering how to pose a question, one she felt had to be posed with a little care. “Bear in mind I was hardly expecting you too, and am not expecting you to do so now...” She began slowly. “but when I first met you properly, you didn't kneel with the others. Were you too surprised, or do you not worship Serios's scriptures as your classmates do?” The question was light with innocent curiosity.

Claude felt his breath hitch. His fingers tapped anxiously against the table as he began to formulate a response, discarding one after another as he wondered – did he dare reveal it? Sothis waited patiently as she watched him, sipping from her glass.

An answer for that question that had haunted him from the first attempt on his life. Did he want to hear it? What would he do with the answer?

“My mother does,” The words were soft, so soft and cautious even though they were the only two people awake in the entire inn. “But my father doesn't. He was born and lives beyond the mountains to the east, after all. Because of that...I've never really known what I should believe.”

Sothis blinked and then rested her chin on her hand. “East of the mountains? Oh, I see; he's foreign.” The complete lack of judgment in her voice made something in Claude's chest twist. “That makes sense. I couldn't help but wonder, given it was just you and the princess-”

“'That makes sense?'” Claude interrupted, his voice strained. Sothis blinked again, a gesture very similar to Byleth's puzzled facial tick. His heart was starting to pound. “He...hehe...I know you wouldn't remember...but there's something in Serois's Scriptures that...” A hard knot formed in his throat, and he tried to hide it by taking another drink of tea.

_Deep breaths. Deep breaths... _

“Marianne made that face before,” Sothis noted, her smile fading. “It was worrying then; it's worrying now, especially seeing _you _wearing it. What have I forgotten?”

“That the people outside of Fodlan are unclean.” The words feel like acid on his tongue, for all that he knew them by heart. “That someone born of a union crossing those borders was forgotten by you.”

Claude had been haunted by these words for years...but Sothis doesn't give him so much as a _second _to fear her (divine) reaction to what he was implying.

“_WHAT?!_” He flinched back at she shouted – seemingly loud enough to shake the building (_and maybe she was THE goddess after all, the goddess the mother who watched over all her children from beyond the stars_) or at least rattle the room they were sitting in – her voice full of shock and indignation and genuine rage and everything he had never expected (_but hoped for, pleaded for in handful of times he'd wondered if she was there_). “Who proclaimed I said anything that stupid?! Who dared to imply I disowned children for no reason at all?!”

“_Please don't shout you're going to wake them_,” Claude pleaded with an anxious glance at the stairwell. Sure most of his classmates were heavy sleepers except for Marianne and probably Bernadetta or Yuri (_he suspected they had their own reasons for being light sleepers_)

For a terrifying second it looked like Sothis might ignore him, being so completely wreathed in righteous outrage, but after a few seconds she blew out a harsh breath and clenched her (_Teach's_) fists a few times. She joined him in watching the stairwell for a minute; fortunately, no one came down, and while Claude could hear the floor creaking, it wasn't consistent enough to be someone's footfalls. “Forgive me,” She grated, like she was fighting with all her might to tie up her temper and sit on top of it (_what was she so angry about? Being misrepresented, or is she – is she giving him the same look she gave Marianne?_) “I had not expected that.”

She took another breath, then another, then let out a furious string of hissed syllables in some ancient language that Claude had no hope of translating but understood nonetheless because his mother had used a similar tone many _many _times before.

The thought that it was anger – anger on _his behalf –_ was such a dumbfounding thought that he couldn't bring himself to interrupt her, even to make a joke.

“It's _bunk_,” Sothis managed to say when she eventually reverted to modern Common. She looked so irate, eyes narrowed into slits, and he could feel magic radiating off of her; he could almost see his mother in her face in that moment, that protective motherly rage he'd seen so many times before. “I don't need my memory to know I said no such thing, ever. I do not reject you, Claude von Riegan, nor your father or your mother's choice of a husband. I never did.”

Her eyes snapped open, burning bright like falling stars. “_And I never will_.”

Claude stared blankly at her, unable to formulate intelligent thought for the longest time. He couldn't figure out what to say, where to start; the words bounced around his skull as he struggled to comprehend them. It didn't make sense. It didn't. The words made sense within a dream, but this was the waking world. Except...

It had all been a lie. The realization sank into his mind slowly, then all at once. The hatred between his two homes, the taunts and the murder attempts, all of it had been based on a _lie on a lie on a lie_-

A scream built up in his throat; he doubled over, letting go of his glass to bury his face in his hands, fighting to suppress it. His eyes are hot and burning with tears, he can hardly breathe; he's so numb he can barely feel himself shaking. _It was all a lie none of it had to happen they hated him because of a lie tried to kill him because of a lie-_

What he does feel is Sothis's quick movements, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to her so his head brushed against her/Teach's shoulder, patting his back and murmuring concerned words that he can't make out over the roaring in his ears. He was shaking, and he hated it, hating being vulnerable because it was so damned dangerous-

-except she wasn't a danger, not to him, she was cared for him almost as much as Teach did had given Teach the power to save him-

_-all over a lie a lie a LIE-_

Old scars, ones he hadn't felt twinge for years, ached. The knife that had scarred him in bed. The sword that had hit him in the back, a cheap shot when he'd walked away from the defeated enemy who had challenged him. The arrow that hit the back of his leg mid-ambush, probably fired by a Gloucester soldier because hadn't the man murdered his uncle? They were starting to blend together.

“...Claude, _Claude,” _Sothis whispered urgently, rubbing his back. “Listen to me boy, _breathe. _Just focus on breathing.”

He tried to listen, he honestly did, but it was so _hard_-

“Listen,” Sothis/Teach's cool hand grasped his wrist and lifted it, pressing his fingers against the vein within her neck. It was beating sedately and smoothly, with the strong and steady rise and fall of her breathing. “Breathe with me. You're hyperventilating. _Breathe with me._”

Why, why alter the books, why change what Sothis said, why sow hatred across a divided land, why say that no one else mattered, why why _why_-

“I will wake up Byleth if I have to, Riegan! Focus. On. Breathing. Forget everything else!” Sothis was hissing in his ear, her grip on him firm and sure and somehow comforting – like a rope thrown to a drowning man.

Somehow, the thought of Byleth seeing him falling to pieces like this was so thoroughly unwanted that it managed to penetrate the raging storm consuming his brain. Claude gasped and gulped in as deep a breath as he could manage, swallowing hard to clear his throat. His eyes were burning, and there really wasn't much difference between his eyes being closed and the blurry, watery haze that filled his vision when they were open. He took another breath and coughed violently, scrabbling to focus on Sothis/Teach's still steady breathing. It was like he was drowning, again...

...but this time there was a hand reaching through the current to pull him back up.

It was a literal miracle that somehow, they weren't waking anyone. How that was possible when he was making so much noise was anyone's guess. His head was spinning so badly he didn't put much stock in his ability to walk or even stand up. At least he could breathe through his throat now, though swallowing kind of hurt. Sothis released his shoulder and was now carding her fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing nonsense in his ears that now he could sort of understand.

“...serve to be here. Of course you do. You're a fine young man, as much as you deliberately make a nuisance of yourself. It's no wonder Byleth is so affectionate toward you.”

Claude took a shaky breath, forcing his heart to slow down. That's when he really noticed it...

There was no wind at the windows, no sound from the torches Sothis had lit. No anything, for that matter. He sat up slightly, rubbing furiously at his eyes, and blinked multiple times before he saw it...and felt it, for that matter.

Green-gold magic floated in the air around them. A tree branch in the window was frozen mid-sway, the flames of the torch paused mid-snap. Suspended in time. He looked up and saw Sothis gazing at him with calm eyes glowing with power; she smiled gently when he managed to meet her gaze.

“Please don't tell her,” Was all he managed to rasp out when he was physically capable of speaking.

Sothis sighed. “She won't think any less of you for it,” she chided without any bite.

“I...haven't explained. I want...want to do that myself. Please?” In another point in time, he would have hated how shaky he voice was. Now he just wanted to sleep, to...to process what he'd just been told. To do...something.

“Alright,” She huffed a bit, though not without affection. She pulled him into a closer hug, bracing him against her chest, and he was too shaky to push her away or protest. (_It wasn't like he needed the hug, wanted needed that feeling of motherly love and support when his was so far away._) “Honestly, I think I'm going to go mad watching the three of you refuse to be honest with each other when there's nothing at all to fear...I understand, but really...”

Claude clutched her shoulders, trying to warn her that he _would _be interrogating her over what the hell _that _was supposed to mean eventually. ...Eventually...after he got some rest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...I wanted to deal with Lorenz's paralogue this chapter, but instead I wrote 8,000 words of Claude Feels for this chapter. It happens! He just grabbed onto my muse and wouldn't let go.
> 
> Sometimes people say that Claude's not as interesting a protagonist as Dimitri because he 'doesn't suffer as much'. Those people leave me screaming into my pillow because anyone who believes that has read precisely none of his dialogue.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth helps Lorenz take care of an incompetent noble and has an important conversation with Claude.

Byleth decided that distress was a feeling she could easily go without; if there was some way to strategically cut the emotion out of her mind, she would accept it with little fuss.

_Even if it meant going back to being numb?, _Sothis asked mildly; Byleth almost ignored her, distractedly handing the reigns of her horse to the stable boy before hurrying after her best friend/chief nuisance. He was almost trying to avoid her and she didn't appreciate it.

_I was being facetious, _Byleth thought back. _At least, I think I am. _She reached Claude's side and caught his hand in hers.

The brunette started a bit at the touch, hesitantly glancing at her. He smiled, but it was so unlike his usual carefree grins she wondered if anyone else was worrying about him as well. It was so soft, fragile, like a glass mirror that would shatter at the slightest touch. “Claude, walk with me? Lorenz is speaking to the fort commander, we have to wait until he returns to strategize.” She glanced back at Yuri, Bernadetta and the rest of her students to call out, “everyone, feel free to walk around, but be wary and keep on the lookout for the enemy just in case.”

“Understood!” The universal response roared back. Byleth smiled, giving her friend's hand a squeeze before almost pulling him out of the Gloucester stable.

“Ow, Teach, have mercy,” Claude protested with less joking strength than she was used to (_strike two_) as she continued to lead him along down the cobblestone roadway. She nodded to the scattered Gloucester knights along the pathway as she headed toward the riverbanks; there weren't many of them, and she could tell by their shiny unblemished armor that they were less suited to defense then even her student. _No wonder most of them were so happy to see what is technically just a number of school children appear as their reinforcements, even though we aren't the Knights of Serios. _She shook her head minutely. _I can worry about that later. _“Easy on the wrist! I'm gonna need it.”

“I'm sorry,” She said quietly, slowing to a stop a few sandy feet away from the rushing river. The water was a beautiful crystal blue, running down from the hill behind them and curving smoothly around the small, humble fortress. She would have liked to sit on the banks and admire the rushing currents, or walk along the shallow parts of the river, but unfortunately this was not the time. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“You didn't need to yank my arm out of its socket to do that,” Claude pouted, brandishing his wrist at her in a wounded manner. She couldn't help but roll her eyes a bit. “You can always talk to me.”

“But you can't do the same?” Byleth protested, wrapping her arms around her stomach. The brunette's expression faltered a bit. “You haven't been acting like yourself for two days now; something's shaken you. What's wrong?”

“Ah...” Claude put a hand on his hip, looking over the river with an air of awkward uncertainty. “It's...it's nothing serious, Teach. I had a very strange and illuminating dream...”

“Then why won't you look at me?” Byleth...half demanded, half pleaded, thoughtlessly grabbing his hand again. He jolted a bit at the touch, his head jerking towards her. There was such a raw look in his eyes, and the fact that he was only halfheartedly trying to hide it only made that feeling of _worry-anger-confusion-worry _intensify.

“I...” Claude hesitated. (_Strike three. Since when was he ever unsure what to say?_) “I'm sorry. You haven't done anything wrong. It's...hard to explain.” He glanced over his shoulder, like he was afraid they were being spied on.

“Did something happen at the inn?” An alarming thought struck her. “Please don't tell me you were attacked and decided not to mention it after the fact because 'you could handle it'.”

Claude let out a soft, startled laugh and shook his head. “No, I promise, nothing like that...though I guess it's sensible to jump to that conclusion, considering where we are.” He looked out across the river. His emerald eyes were hazy, as if they were hundreds of miles away. “I just...discovered something. Was told something that uprooted almost everything I thought I knew.”

“Something you begged Sothis not to mention to me?” Byleth huffed, crossing her arms.

He had the grace to duck his head. “It's that obvious, huh?”

“Sothis doesn't frown that much unless I've run myself ragged, and I know for a fact that I went to sleep at sunset like a good girl,” she said in a very deadpan tone. Stuck with a painful uncertainty of how to communicate this jumbled mix of feelings to him – was it sadness? Distress? ...Hurt? She couldn't figure out where one feeling began and another ended; they were all tangled together in a knot.

“...” Claude gave her another fragile smile. Byleth rather felt like she was looking at a stain glass window that had cracked under mismanagement, that if she reached for him and let her fingers brush against his cheek, he'd shatter into dust. The look was raw and vulnerable and...very real. She wondered when the last time he'd looked at someone like this was. She wondered how he'd learned to fake a smile so completely that she'd never seen it before.

“Claude, you're my friend.” He believed that, didn't he? “Whatever's bothering you, I won't care. You can trust me.”

The brunette was silent for another moment, then he let out a little soft laugh. Byleth was struck with an rush of emotion harder than the thrust of a lance; she had always liked his laugh, but this was different. It was warmer, sweeter, gentler; it lacked a sarcastic edge or artificial amusement. “The scary thing is I do believe you,” Claude told her with the shake of his head, still smiling that soft and honest way that made her chest feel funny and all twisted up. “I can barely get my head around what you're willing to do for me even though there's nothing in it for you.”

“What's that supposed to mean? Like I need a reason to want to keep you safe!” She'd meant for her words to be either flat or indigent, but instead they came out odd-sounding. Was that was hurt sounded like in her voice? She'd never made a sound like that before.

Claude's hand clasped over hers, his eyes widening. “H-Hey, I didn't mean it like that.” He lowered his head a bit, a rueful look crossing over that vulnerability he was projecting. “I'm just amazed that someone like you is suddenly a part of my life...” He hesitantly squeezed her hand. Her breath caught in her throat. “When I was young, I didn't believe in gods.” Another little laugh escaped his lips. “I know that seems like a strange thing to say after meeting Sothis, but it was true. I didn't put much stock in faith; I only trusted the tangible things to steer the way life went. You can't trust phantom hopes to protect you in a battle; only those who live in the here and now can do that. But...I always knew there were some things that no one could explain. Things that only make sense if you believe in the concept of fate.”

He was still smiling when he looked up to meet her eyes again. Soft as it still was, it became a little less fragile as he drank in whatever he saw in her eyes. “Things like...well, meeting you, for example.”

“Meeting me?” Byleth repeated softly. There was that funny feeling in her chest again...

“You just seem kind of...impossible. And I'm not just referring to the goddess hitching a ride in your body.” Claude ran his free hand through his hair. “You have the crest of the old king, you're better in a fight than veterans twice your age, you know how to bring out the best in all of us students even though you're our contemporary...and you're willing to give up so much to help people you care about.”

His eyes took on a look Byleth couldn't quite interpret. It was warm, though, and it made that strange constricting feeling intensify. “Because of that, there's no way I can believe that stumbling on you in some random village happened by chance. That means it must have been fate.”

Byleth felt warmth flood her face. “Trying to flatter me as a distraction?” She asked, hoping to distract him from the gesture.

“No, I mean it.” Claude insisted with a shake of his head. “Though I guess I walked into that, given how often I do make a farce out of these sorts of things. ...I really do believe it. Maybe it was a miracle, or maybe Sothis subconsciously empathized with my dreams...but I was meant to meet you.”

“...” Byleth fumbled for words, even though she wasn't sure she'd be able to get anything out around the lump in her throat. It wasn't a painful feeling, just a strange one.

“Hey Teach...” Worry flitted across the mix of emotions in Claude's eyes. “How many times can you use that rewind power Sothis gave you? Safely, I mean. How many times can you cover for a mistake I make before it starts to hurt you?”

“Huh? I...” Byleth bit her lip. Part of her wanted to refuse to answer; to insist that it would distract him if he kept wondering about her magic levels while in the middle of a battle. But that look in his eyes...the rawness of his emotions...she couldn't deny him an answer.

“Seven,” She said truthfully. “Eight wouldn't kill me, but it would be debilitating. Nine would leave me on the ground...and anything beyond ten...”

His fingers released her hand to trace the curve of her throat; it made her skin tingle. “Okay,” He said quietly. “I'll keep that in mind.” Could he really build plans while balancing the pulse as a factor? After what she saw him do in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, she almost believed he could. “Don't go beyond eight. Promise me you won't.”

“I can't,” Byleth protested. “We never know what might happen in battle. If I need to-”

Claude's eyes flashed. “_Promise me, _Byleth.” He said with a touch of heat. “Promise me.”

She was stunned. “...You've never said my name before.”

His lips quirked upward. “I guess that's a little out of line; I am still your student, after all...but I'm asking you this as your friend. ...Do I have to beg? If I have to, I will. Please, Byleth.”

“I...” What could she possibly say to that? Claude didn't beg. She couldn't imagine any situation where he would. Her mind was drawing a complete blank. But he said that he would...for her...? “Alright. I promise, Claude.” What else could she possibly say to that?

Claude's smile held a mixture of relief and gratitude; so bright and warm and _raw _it was like a punch in the stomach. “I've been in bad situations before,” he confessed to her. “I've nearly been smothered while I was abed with a fever, I've been pushed into a swollen river to drown, I've been stabbed and shot at on the battlefield...but none of that was like what happened when you all but killed yourself burning through your magic.”

His fingers went up, threading through loose strands of her hair which he gently tucked behind her ear. “I don't have a lot of friends, or people I know I can trust. I don't think I've ever had someone as-” he hesitated “-well, precious to me before as you are. Watching you die right in front of me, powerless to do anything to help you? That was one of the worst experiences of my life.”

Byleth stared, the wheels of her mind jamming _hard _at the straight-up declaration that watching her crumble under magical exhaustion was a worse experience than assassination attempts _on his person_. She couldn't make sense of the thought; she could hardly believe that she'd _heard _it..

“...There's something I want to tell you,” Claude said, glancing over his shoulder to where the rest of the Golden Deer were loitering around, talking and uneasily looking for any sign of Acheron's troops. “It's something that could get me killed depending on who hears it. Only Dimitri and Cyril know about this, and they found out by accident. When I get the chance – when it's a bit safer – I'll tell you. I...I want you to know.”

Byleth blinked, trying to think about what he might be hinting at...she looked back at him, at his golden skin and warm green eyes, and wondered..._ 'I can't say. My mother hasn't been home in many years and has expressed no desire to return. ...I'm just keeping a promise to my parents. Make of that what you will.' _She had seen half-Almyran children before. They weren't as rare as you might think, given the famous animosity between the eastern nation and the Fodlan territories it bordered. Not common, but not so rare she couldn't remember their defining features – lighter golden skin than their Almyran parent, eyes and hair inherited from their Fodlan parent. It wasn't universal, but it was a frequent commonality...and the dark golden skin tone was not something often seen in Fodlan.

It had crossed her mind before, but she'd dismissed it. The hate and fear that was so often directed toward the 'Eastern Menace' had never mattered to her; a few tours in the country had merely reinforced the idea that it was all circumstantial. Besides, Claude's background was irrelevant to the fact that he was her responsibility and her friend. Why should it change how she felt?

...Her thoughts must have leaked through her expression, because Claude's eyes lit up, and quite suddenly Byleth found herself being hugged. She couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her; as friendly as Claude was, he generally avoided anything potentially more intimate than a hair ruffle or a hand on the shoulder. “Thanks,” he whispered.

Byleth, warmth bubbling throughout her veins, let her hands settle on his broad shoulders. They enjoyed a moment of peace before she felt Claude stiffen under her fingers; before she could ask what was wrong, he pulled her back behind a tree. Moments later, there was a whistle on the far side of the bank. “Damn,” He muttered. “Some people just can't read the mood.”

Byleth sighed as the sound of horse hooves pounding on the dirt became more audible. “We better get to the fort entrance.” She couldn't help but feel a sense of loss when Claude released her and started heading for the destination; she let a hand slid down to the hilt of the Creator's Sword as she ran along behind him. At least Sothis wasn't awake to tease her.

“There you are!” Leonie said in relief as the two of them skidded to a halt next to the rest of the Deer. Claude smiled at her and patted a worried-looking Bernadetta on the head; Yuri raised an eyebrow slightly at this but didn't comment. Byleth made her way over to Lorenz's side, critically examining the far side of the river as the sound of bridge lowering filled the previously quiet air.

The flood of enemies was ongoing; men on horseback were surging up both sides of the river, taking point along the two grassy paths that lead to the fortress. The bridge on the river directly in front of them hadn't been lowered...yet, but the other two bridges were. Spreading out in front of her were archers, foot soldiers with axes and swords, a couple of pegasus knights, and...oh, wow. Was that supposed to be armor?

* * *

Byleth squinted at the ostentatious figure strutting up to the other side of the river bank, the sunlight catching on the many, many jewels studding his hideous yellow coat. His hand was glittering with dust as he waved mockingly at the fortress; calling out in a loud voice, he proclaimed “Is that you, little boy Gloucester?”

Claude and Balthus, standing side by side, made identical exasperated faces virtually simultaneously. The voice was a little distorted by air and distance, so Byleth didn't recognize it immediately, but when he spoke up again, the mental image clicked into place – being forced to stand next to a blustering self-important irritant as he made enemies every time he opened his mouth. “Hah! To think that the mighty Lord of the Round Table would leave his lands in the hands of brats and the dregs of his army! I'm insulted, I say! I would put far more thought into defending such a fine bit of territory such as this.” Which was often.

Byleth had made the spectacularly ill-informed decision to show him that she was _competent_, and possibly the strongest person in the troop; which meant that he had demanded she stick to his side every time he went on a venture. Even though she hadn't truly been able to get annoyed or angry at the time, she'd been constantly pondering how much they were being paid to protect this man, and occasionally wondered if backstabbing could be legally justified if one was sufficiently provoked.

“...That's Lord Acheron?” Bernadetta asked uncertainly, leaning forward and putting one hand up to shade her eyes. “...Really?”

Yuri sighed and patted her on top of her head. “Seeing is believing, huh Bern?”

“He doesn't even have any armor...unless there's something under that coat...”

“You say that like he thinks he'll need it.” Balthus grumbled. “What do you think, Professor? Should we hole up and defend, or strike out?”

Byleth bit her lip thoughtfully, before glancing at Claude and pointing across the field at their mounted opponents. He nodded in the direction of the bridge directly across from them before jerking a thumb back at the comparatively humble defenses the minor fort possessed. “We'll do both.” She decided, rolling her shoulder. Her students all gave her an attentive and slightly confused look. “With the bridges down, he'll order his forces to rush us. Bernadetta, Ignatz, Lysithea, get up on the ramparts. Captain, get them some bodyguards.” The two archers and the mage all turned and ran up the stone stairs to the upper open levels of the fortress. The captain of the guard nodded to her before following them; Lorenz was preoccupied with his shouted argument/pissing contest with Acheron.

Byleth then snapped her fingers and pointed at Raphael. “Raphael, Balthus, I want each of you to hold the front line in relative cover there and there,” she gestured to the left and the right of the fortress, indicating the open roads the enemy would approach them through. “Hapi, Leonie, Lorenz, you'll be running support between both sides and sniping enemies.” Leonie nodded sharply and strung her bow while Hapi stroked her horse's mane, glaring warily out across the field. “Claude, Marianne, take point behind Raphael and Balthus; keep them from getting overwhelmed. Flayn, you're on healing duty whenever Marianne is preoccupied.” Flayn bobbled her head in understanding, fiddling nervously with her sleeves even as she visibly steeled herself. “Yuri, keep stock of the battlefield, keep our more fragile classmates out of danger, and otherwise use your discretion. I'll provide whatever cover is necessary.”

“Got it!”

Byleth hurried up the steps to stand next to Lorenz. Acheron, apparently pleased with his posturing, had turned to shout orders at his troops. “He's an idiot,” she noted.

“Entirely,” Lorenz agreed. “We need not kill him – in fact, it would be preferable if we didn't, at least at the moment. He's not inclined to fight to the death, anyway.”

“So we just have to capture him?” Byleth eyed the forces as they split up in two groups, each headed for one of the roads. “How hard to you think his men will be fighting?”

“Never underestimate opportunists, professor,” Lorenz said seriously. “As foolish and incompetent as Acheron might be, his men are fighting to pull themselves up the social ladder. I don't doubt they'd happily kill us in order to serve a major lord.”

“I don't doubt that. I'm trying to gauge what to expect, is all.” Byleth tensed as she saw the pegasus knights split up, a few flying directly toward them. “Be careful.”

“As ever, Professor.” The lanky boy promised without pomp or sarcasm, his hand sliding down the length of his lance.

She headed down the stairs drawing the Creator's Sword. Her feet carried her forward, past the lines of her students and up close to the river, charging to meet the three pegasus knights approaching from the front. They must have thought the kids had left the front way exposed, assumed that since the bridge wasn't down that they needed to prioritize the side entrances to the fortress. They were very wrong. When you were armed with a relic, you _were _the army.

Byleth flicked her wrist in an easy, practiced way that was now ingrained into her muscle memory, letting the Creator's Sword unfold into the bladed whip before swinging it forward with precision. She was rather relieved to hit the rider but not the pegasus; living with Hannah and Gustav for all her life had resulted in an ingrained fondness for the majestic animals. The impact threw the rider off her mount, dropping her into the river – armor and all. Byleth couldn't spare more than a moment to wince – drowning was a terrible way to die – before the other two wing-mates were circling around her.

She dodged a javelin thrown down at her, and even as she moved an arrow whistled out from the upper fortress and hit the pegasus's wing. The animal cried out and quickly stumbled down to the ground, making a mostly even landing but throwing its rider out of the saddle. Byleth crossed the distance and kicked the woman in the face (pegasus knights didn't invest in helmets, because if you fall from high enough up you're dead either way), knocking her out. She promptly had to dodge the a violent kick from the pegasus, who was grounded but not dead and still protective of its rider. Pivoting on one foot, she used that momentum to carry her past the final knight's dive; air rushed past her face like a physical slap as the lance and hooves narrowly missed her.

“I'll keep it simple!” Leonie's voice echoed from the right, where Acheron's men had come forward and engaged her students. _What's going on over there? _Byleth threw a fireball up at the pegasus knight to disorient her; then as she tried to right her mount, she swung the blade whip in a circle and then unleashed a blade of fire up into the air. The scream and the smell of burnt flesh made her stomach churn (_that was happening more and more these days; it was never like this before...why is this happening?_), but nevertheless she hurried a short distance toward the bridge so she could see around the stone wall protecting the fortress.

As her eyes found Leonie, Byleth felt herself slacken a bit in relief. Her father's apprentice was leading her horse in a circle, shooting through a wall of fire that_ most certainly _hadn't been there a few minutes ago. A few of her burning arrows hit the ground near enemy knights on horseback, causing the frightened animals to rear back and throw some of their riders. The others hit arms, shoulders and legs, causing uniforms to catch fire and armor to become overheated. Those men scrambled for the river to douse themselves; as they ran, Blizzard shot out and struck one in the back, causing him to topple to the ground while putting the flames out. Another spell followed, and only two men managed to make it to the safety of the river.

Balthus chuckled and patted Marianne on the back with his massive faux-relic gauntlets, causing her to squeak. With a cheerful apology, he threw a punch at the wall of flames; a magic blast flew out from his fist, slamming into a knight who had been trying to remount and knocking him flat. Marianne turned her attention away from fighting or healing to cast Blizzard on the flames themselves, dousing them gradually and keeping them from spreading.

Seeing they were holding up, Byleth turned back to the front of the river and searched for Acheron with narrowed eyes. However, she didn't really have time – his men had reached the lever for the bridge directly in front of her, leaving her standing between a dozen men and the open gates of the fortress.

_Poor things. It's not even a fair fight, _Sothis's sleepy voice interjected. While it startled her a bit, Byleth couldn't help but smile at the sudden input.

_Their funeral, _she responded lightly as she strode over to her end of the bridge, recalling the Creator Sword so it was in its blade form again and letting it hang loosely by her side. She needed a moment to see if there were archers here – ah, there was one. This might be a bit tricky.

However said archer didn't immediately take a shot at her. In fact, the contingent of men only took a few steps across the newly-lowered bridge before almost universally freezing in place while they stared at her.

“Is that-” One of them choked, his sword hand gesturing weakly to the relic sword.

“It's the Ashen Demon! She really was chosen by the goddess!”

“N-No way, man. I'm not being paid nearly enough to fight her!”

“I've heard she ripped a man's heart out of his chest and crushed it in her hand as he died in front of her...!” _Seriously? I don't think I ever did anything **that **screwed up... _“She'll slaughter all of us like without batting an eye!”

The archer Byleth had been mentally planning to work around was backing away...to the _side _of the bridge, toward the rushing river. “That's the Sword of the Creator! Screw this...I know better than to challenge someone armed with a relic!” With those words, he promptly jumped into the river, ditching his bow on the wooden bridge as he let the current carry him away from the battle.

Byleth slowly looked between the other men, wondering how she should make use of this development. After a second she hit upon what Claude would do, and felt herself smile ever so slightly. “I won't fight to kill,” she said, quiet and soft as ever. Her head was slightly bowed so her hair was partly concealing her face. “Not unless you're foolish enough to make me.” Then she looked up and fixed her harshest stern glare on them.

Two of them screamed and jumped into the river immediately. A few of the others just backed up fearfully, while the remainder – either determined to earn their paychecks or dumb enough to take her on regardless. They charged her in a single file line, effectively negating their advantage in numbers; Byleth blocked the first man's strike, kicked him once in the kneecap and then punched him in the face. She faintly felt his nose shatter under her gauntlet and slammed the hilt of the Creator's Sword into his chest, knocking him aside.

The second man charged forward only to be stopped by a ring of white light forming around him. He had about half a second to mutter “what the-?” before Aura ignited and engulfed him whole. Much like Luna, the man essentially _vanished _within the spell; when the white light faded, only bits of ash falling to the ground remained.

“I had him,” Byleth said bemusedly as Yuri flickered into existence by her side. “But thank you.”

“You can't blame me for worrying,” The violet-eyed boy said playfully. The third man moved for him, thinking him an easier target; somehow missing the clearly glowing relic binding his wrist. “You were going to hold the bridge by yourself. Experience has taught me that you'll go and get yourself terribly hurt before you ask us to help!” Without even pausing Yuri teleported past him and then kicked him in the back, sending him tumbling into the river.

“I don't need to be protected from minor mercenaries like these,” Byleth chided as the remainder of the men promptly broke ranks and fled. “How's the situation?”

“We're holding just fine. The enemy tried to smoke us out, but Claude and Leonie used their oil barrels against them.” Yuri smirked. “Bernadetta and Lysithea are doing an admirable job forcing the rest of the enemies to keep their distance. Everyone's health is holding steady, and because of that Lorenz's men are agitating to start taking the offensive.”

“Now that we have this bridge...” Byleth's eyes were drawn to Acheron, who was still standing with arrogant confidence on the far banks of the river. A minor lord with delusions of grandeur...how could she ensure that Lorenz wouldn't have any trouble with him for the foreseeable future...? Quickly an idea hit her and she felt herself smile a bit. “Hm...Yuri, be a dear and collect Claude, Lysithea, Hilda, or all three, will you?”

Yuri, wonderful troublemaker that he was, understood immediately and laughed. “I'll be right back. What should I tell the others?”

“Press the advantage, but don't overextend themselves. Keep healers close by and watch out for other oil barrel traps. Watch for snipers and pegasus knights.” Byleth looked to the right, taking a few steps so she could see past the wall to the far right. A number of Gloucester troops were holding the line, Lorenz and Ignatz leading them and firing into the woods where the Acheron troops had retreated to for cover.

They were all doing so well already. Had it only been a few months ago that they were untrained nobles and commoners, looking to her for guidance? Her father had occasionally been heard grumbling about how she grew up too fast. Was this what that had felt like to him? She would have to ask him when they got back to Garreg Mach...

_Focus, Byleth, _Sothis said teasingly.

_Right, right. _“That should cover it. I trust the others to use their discretion...and to mind Raphael and Balthus for me,” she added the latter as an afterthought. Yuri's grin widened; “I will,” he promised with a chuckle right before he vanished in a flash of orange light. Byleth then confidently turned toward the far bank again, walking across the bridge at a leisurely pace. Acheron was surrounded by a circle of bodyguards both mages and axe wielding foot soldiers, and she could just hear him shouting orders over the clashing of weapons and cries of animals. When she glanced to the right and left – a knee jerk reaction, once she started worrying and recognized the emotion for what it was she couldn't stop it – she saw Leonie and Balthus tying up dozens of wrecked, defeated opponents, laughing and telling each other jokes from what she could tell. On the other side, Lorenz was cautiously leading the Gloucester troops toward the forest, with Ignatz and Raphael right behind him. Bernadetta was cautiously climbing down the stairs of the fortress just behind Lysithea. Constance flew overhead on her pegasus, one hand raised, prepared to rain Bolting down on any unexpected problems; Hapi was cleaning an injury on her horse.

“You rang, Teach?” Claude's bright voice brought her out of her thoughts. She smiled at him, Hilda and Yuri, all of whom had teleported in behind her with barely a sound.

His smile was warm and light; not carefree per say, he was still covered in dirt and blood with a couple of recently healed scars, but there was a curve to it and a spark in his eyes that made her feel warm inside. It was...honest. A small change, and yet...

“Shall we go and frighten a social climber out of his wits?” Her lips moved before her mind quite caught up with them.

Hilda snickered and rolled her shoulders, her ax swaying as she moved. Claude's grin widened a bit. “Nice to know you've got a mischievous side, Teach. Let's go.” He drew an arrow from his halfway depleted quiver and followed her as she lead them across the bridge to the far side of the bank.

“I never saw you use Aura down in the tunnels,” Byleth told Yuri curiously. “Did I just miss it?”

“It's a powerful spell, I can't exactly sling it around like it's going out of style,” Yuri said, then shrugged. “I did use it a few times.”

“I'm thinking of getting you a Levin Sword,” Byleth said as they came to a pause when Acheron's bodyguards turned and shouted in alarm, fumbling with their weapons. “Less strain on your magic, more range and more power.”

“And where are you going to find a thing like that on short notice?” Yuri asked her teasingly as the two mages hurtled towards them. Hilda unhooked a hand-ax from her belt and threw it while Claude shot an arrow with hawk-eyed precision. The two mages were dropped like flies, clutching their wounds and crying in pain.

“I'll figure it out,” Byleth promised him evenly, before darting forward. Sure enough, this drew the two ax men towards him.

“W-w-get back here! Your job is to protect me!” Acheron shrieked.

Byleth snorted and ducked under the first swing of the ax. Yuri brought his sword down and locked the blade in place as she twisted and slammed the hilt of the Creator's Sword into the stomach of the other enemy. She narrowly avoided being thrown up on as she pulled back, allowing Hilda to ring his bell with the flat side of her own ax.

Claude nonchalantly stepped around them, letting his friends trash/disarm the 'bodyguards' and gave Acheron an amused look. “I heard some good-for-nothing had inherited this territory. I guess that's you, then.” He said with a mock-thoughtful tone of voice.

Acheron quickly went purple with rage, irregardless of the fact that he was facing four opponents without any backup. “Who do you think you are?! I'm not a good-for-nothing! You are!”

_...Seriously? _Byleth thought blankly.

_Remarkably...I think he is serious. _Sothis deadpanned. She saw the ghost roll her eyes when she blinked.

It did give her the remarkable sight of Claude looking both legitimately startled and completely, utterly exasperated. “If you were actually good for anything, I'd at least expect you to recognize who I am...” he said, both hands dropping to his hips as if tuning out of the battle entirely. Acheron immediately pounced on this, raising one hand to cast Blizzard-

-only to take a knife through the palm. Claude, quicker than a blink, had drawn the short serrated blade and thrown it with perfect precision. Acheron shrieked in pain, dropping to his knees as Hilda and Byleth both shot forward to join their friend.

“Aw, don't feel bad Claude.” Hilda said innocently, patting the brunette comfortingly on the shoulder. “A guy who's never been to the Round Table Conference wouldn't have seen you enough to immediately recognize you! After all, I had to go on a couple of parties before this old lecher learned to recognize me by my face instead of my breasts.”

“Is that right?” Claude asked with false lightness while his eyes narrowed. Byleth gritted her teeth at this unexpected revelation and forcibly reminded herself that they wanted to capture Acheron alive. “Would you like to refresh his memory?”

“Tempting, but I think I'll just write about it to my big brother. He's not worth the effort, and I'm _sooo _tired.” Hilda let out a theatrical yawn as Acheron finally stopped sobbing and wailing to stare wide-eyed up at the two teens standing in front of him. “We came _all _the way out here, only to deal with a bunch of weaklings and washouts! Who tried to set us on _fire_! Do you know how hard it is to clean white shirts?” She tugged at her dirty uniform for emphasis. “Let me tell you; it takes forever!”

“Huh...I guess I should write to gramps too, then.” Claude said. “He was legitimately interested in that building project certain individuals were blabbing incessantly about; and he's too old to have to deal with minute annoyances.”

“B-B-Big brother? G-Gramps? N-No...wait...you're...?!” Acheron turned extremely white as the blood fled it.

Byleth rolled her eyes and glanced over at Yuri. “You're not going to join in?” She asked curiously.

“Eh...” Yuri snorted. “I would...but there's just no challenge in it.”

“C-Claude v-von R-Riegan? L-Lady Goneril...?!” Acheron's voice was barely a squeak. Then, heedless to the knife still jammed in his hand, he threw himself onto the ground so his forehead was touching the grass. “I-I give up! I surrender! Pleeeease don't kill me!”

_Geez... _Sothis snorted. _Yet another lord with no bite yet all the bark. I appreciate he isn't that dangerous, but really, I would have thought he'd act a little bit dignified._

_One would think. I better go and bring Lorenz over; he is the offended party here. Oh, and check on everyone one more time. _Byleth murmured as much to Yuri, who nodded. Leaving the capture to her three students, Byleth turned and began making her way back the way she came_ ...I can't believe it went this smoothly. I knew that Acheron was an incompetent, but with the battles we've already faced so far...this was so easy... _

_It's a sign of how far they've all come since that first battle with the bandits. _

_...That's right. ...This is pride I'm feeling, isn't it?_

Sothis chuckled lightly. _Indeed it is._

* * *

Claude found her late in the evening the next night.

Lorenz sent them back to Garreg Mach ahead of them, explaining that he needed to meet with his father, give a status report, and oversee the 'negotiations' with the captured Acheron. They'd returned to one of the inns they'd visited on their way to the battle, tired but full of cheer. Most everyone else was quick to go to bed after an impromptu feast was held for them in the dining hall; she'd stayed up, lingering on the balcony as she watched the sunset. Hoping that he would come and find her.

“One of the things I miss from home are the views.”

She blinked at this statement and glanced over her shoulder. Claude had walked up next to her, resting his elbows on the railing as he gazed out across the trees. “It's not that there aren't beautiful sights here in the Alliance,” he went on, “it's just there aren't many mountains. One of my favorite pastimes as a child was flying with Ivory up to mountain range after mountain rage and just looking down at the world. Revealing in how beautiful it is, how vast and mysterious.”

He hesitated, taking a moment to look over both his shoulders – reassuring himself that they were, in fact, completely alone. “Almyra is beautiful,” he said softly. Byleth's breath hitched a bit. _I was right... _“I wish I could show you. I wish that it was as simple as using a break in the school year to whisk you and the others across the border, drag you all over the place until even Lysithea is so enamored with the sights that she doesn't mind being taken away from her books. ...But that was stolen from us, replaced with generations of hatred from a falsified source.”

_Falsified? _Something prickled up Byleth's spine. _Sothis, what did you tell him?_

_I think he's about to explain, _her friend responded chidingly. _How about you reassure the poor boy before you start asking questions?_

Immediately Byleth felt stupid. Of course Claude had been frightened of telling her this. The animosity between Fodlan – specifically the Alliance – and Almyra ran deep and foul. She knew that half-blood children on both sides of the border suffered from it; in Fodlan they'd even been subjected to hunts and _lynchings_ before Rhea's administration stamped them out for good. Even now Claude had good reason to fear letting this particular secret slip.

“I remember,” She said softly. “The beaches were my favorite place to rest at the end of a job. I...enjoyed feeling the sand between my toes and the salt water crashing against my legs. I would like to go back sometime.”

Claude let out a small, shaky laugh after a moment of silence. It broke off after a few seconds into what almost sounded like a sob. Alarmed, Byleth placed a hand on his shoulder in concern.

“...That's all you have to say?” He stared into her eyes, those beautiful emerald pools glimmering with unshed tears. “...You really don't care.”

“Why would who you parents are change the fact that you're my best friend?” She asked in all honesty, torn between worry and bewilderment. Had she somehow given the impression that she distrusted foreigners? Had her lessons built off of previous jobs been misconstrued?

Claude clasped her hand in his. “Can I steal you away, Teach?” He asked jokingly, his breath hitching. “You're too sweet and pure for this unworthy world. Clearly I have to hide you lest you be tainted by the rest of us.”

Byleth felt herself blush hotly. “I can't believe you can say that with a straight face,” she managed, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. “You do remember that I'm the Ashen Demon, right?”

Claude gently stroked her face, tracing the curve of her cheek. That feeling of warmth-happiness-hope-glee-anticipation-confusion grew so strong Byleth thought she would burst; that her blood would boil in her veins from trying to contain it. _What should I do? Flee from it or embrace it? _“If the Ashen Demon can embrace a half-breed as a friend and mean it from the bottom of her heart,” he whispered huskily, “what does that make the rest of us?” He cradled the side of her face in his hand. “You are not a demon, Teach. I'll duel the next person to say otherwise.”

“I-I-” She sputtered a bit, trapped in that warm, affectionate gaze. “C-Claude...I can take care of myself...”

“I know.” He smiled that innocent, pure smile again. “I'm going to do it anyway, though. You're too important to me.”

“...Then...thank you...” She tried to tell him what she was feeling. She tried to ask if he was feeling it to, to beg him to explain the fire that was roaring inside her, but the words wouldn't form. She didn't even know how to ask.

“Khalid.”

“H-Huh?” She blinked at him. “W-Wait...that's...one of your names?”

Claude nodded. Somehow his eyes seemed to shine even brighter. “Mother named me Claude. Father named me Khalid. I'm trusting you with both, okay?”

Something hot stung at her eyes. That gesture...knowing how dangerous it was for him to talk about this here... “Khalid,” She whispered back.

The name tasted so sweet on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer to pulling the trigger on this romance...getting ever closer...
> 
> Also, it was nice to write a low stakes battle for once. Acheron is such a buffoon I figured it was just fine to have the Deer steamroll over him. Plus it contrasts with the more higher stakes battles nicely.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri hears disturbing rumors coming out of Remire, a little girl runs for help, and stumbles on a shocking scene at the village Byleth calls home.

“Thank you for carrying me up here, Prince Blaiddyd.” The peasant girl smiled sweetly at him from where she was lying in bed, propped up on pillows. Manuela was taking her temperature, murmuring uneasily to herself as she double-checked the notepad on the table. “I was getting kind of dizzy.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Dimitri reassured her. His heart clenched at he examined her; she was so _small_, so young. The road to Garreg Mach was a lot safer than many had become over the past decades, but to travel all the way here from Remire, _alone_...how frightened were the residents of that fateful village he'd visited all those months ago? What was going on? “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” She said, bobbling her head. “My head still hurts, but I think what Atra gave me has started working now! She said it might take a while 'cause I'd drank so much from the well...” Then she frowned. “Micah kept saying he was fine, but I know that he had a lot too. I hope the guy in the cloak sits on him until he finishes the pie too.”

“I hope so too,” Dimitri said kindly and entirely honestly.

It was lucky that he'd decided to take his impromptu archery practice to the fields just outside the monastery walls so as not to interfere with the Black Eagle intensive training; otherwise he wouldn't have been there to catch the swaying, exhausted village girl who stumbled alone down the road. The only coherent words he'd managed to get out of her at the time were 'Jeralt' and 'By'; otherwise she simply wasn't clear-headed. He'd rushed her to the medical wing and went to collect Manuela's hangover cure when it became clear that the latter was still shaking off the remainder of her latest drinking binge. Thankfully having a young patient suddenly presented to her helped her sober up quickly. That was yesterday.

Dimitri had felt compelled to visit, since Captain Jeralt and the mercenaries were on their way back from some minor business Lady Rhea had asked them to attend to. Fortunately the young girl, Miria, had recovered quite well in the intervening time – Manuela having worked through the night examining her odd symptoms and having ingested some sort of 'counter-agent' likely contributed to that – and was proving rather talkative.

“She fed you a _pie_?” Manuela asked, grabbing a quill. Her eyebrows shot up with incredulity. “Can you tell me about it?”

Miria wrinkled her nose. “It wasn't really a proper pie; she put the medicine inside so it wouldn't taste so awful and be easier to swallow. It was _weird _and kinda gross and it felt funny goin' down my throat; like tryin'a eat moonbeams and dirt. But it made my head hurt less, an' my blood didn't feel so hot afterwards.”

“Were a lot of people in Remire complaining about feeling headachy and hot?” Manuela asked with a lightness that didn't match up with her worried expression.

“Yup,” Miria nodded solemnly. “Atra said that something nasty had been dumped in the well a while ago, and everyone drinks from the well. It's how we get our water an' take care of the gardens when the rains are hiding.” She let out a massive yawn. “I hated being so hot...I couldn' sleep, an' I was jus so cranky. Micah was worse, yellin' at everyone all the time for no reason...”

“Everyone drinks from the well?” Manuela repeated. Miria made a face; the woman sighed and did her best to look contrite. “I'm very sorry, dear; just a few more questions and I'll let you get some more sleep, okay?”

Dimitri patted her hand encouragingly. She gave him a beaming smile (_she was so _happy_ to have a prince paying attention to her_) and nodded, albeit a bit reluctantly. “Yup, everyone's gotta use the well. We don't got running water like you fancy folk.”

“Was anyone other than Micah acting oddly aggressive?” When the village girl looked blankly at her, Manuela amended, “was anyone else acting in anger.”

Miria's face scrunched up with thought. “...I think I heard mum talking about Mr Garland, and how he was actn' agitated, saying we were being watched an' there were enemies in the woods or somethin'... but I don't know 'bout that. Mum kept me inside, told me to sleep it off. But I couldn't sleep, I told her. I was too hot 'n my head hurt so much.... Everything was too hot.”

Unease curled inside Dimitri's stomach like a vicious snake. _It could just be a fever, _he told himself, careful not to let that feeling show.

“Can you describe Atra to me? You said that she gave you a cure.”

Miria frowned and shook her head. “She didn't say it was a cure, but a counter-agent.” She said the last words slowly, feeling out unfamiliar words and syllables. “That it would cancel out the effects for now, but if we didn't stop drinking from the well it wouldn't be enough. That we needed to go get more help.” The little girl frowned. “She looked really worried... n' angry. I've never seen anyone look so angry.”

_She knows what's going on, _his father said darkly.

“She's 'bout as tall as Prince Blaiddyd,” Miria went on. “'cept I don't think she's from the Kingdom...her accent is really funny. Never heard anything like it. She's got all these burns on her; mum says a lot of them look like sun poisoning, but the rest are from fire. Her hair's black and really long, she ties it back like this-” she pulled her brown hair aside and demonstrated a low ponytail. “-and she has really dark blue eyes. She's got these two swords she uses, and one of them is this super-neat blade that catches fire when she draws it! It's magical, she said.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then snapped her fingers. “Oh! And there's this other guy who's with her...he's super mysterious, just like her. He doesn't talk a lot, and his voice is really low and raspy. Like something scratched up his throat somethin' awful. He wears this dark blue coat with a hood over his head, and he's got a sword too. I don't really remember his face or his hair or anything. He's kind of creepy...” she shook her head. “...but he was really nice to me. He's the one who suggested putting the medicine in a pie when I couldn't eat it the first time.” She frowned. “I don't think I ever heard his name though. He doesn't really talk...maybe talking hurts a bit because his throat's all scratchy?”

“That's certainly possible,” Manuela said, scribbling furiously as she copied down notes. “Thank you, Miria. This will be very helpful to us.”

“Will you tell Cap' Jeralt n' By?” The girl asked insistently even as Dimitri helped her settle into a comfortable sleeping position and adjust the heavy blankets over her.

“Of course,” he promised her. “I'll let them know as soon as they get back that you're here.”

Her eyes were still a little glassy-looking. “Thank you...” Miria nuzzled the pillow and blankets, her shoulders relaxing as she started to drift off to sleep.

Dimitri stood up, careful not to jostle the chair he'd been sitting in and make unnecessary noise. He gave Manuela a worried look; she gestured to the doorway while placing the back of her hand on the peasant girl's forehead – taking her temperature one last time, just to be sure. With one backward look, his mind buzzing with dark thoughts, the prince made his way out of the room. Waiting outside the door was Sir Shamir; she looked severe as ever, with only a glint in her eye suggesting she was worried. “How is she?” The taciturn knight asked him.

“Professor Manuela thinks that she'll recover. Apparently there's someone in the village now who knows what's happening,” Dimitri responded. He felt cold. “Though what she has said is a little concerning...”

“How so?”

“These mysterious figures told her that their well water has been contaminated...and the way she phrased that, it may have been deliberate tampering rather than a natural accident.” Manuela said, gently closing the door behind her. “Her initial symptoms were close to a normal fever, but the esoteric symptoms she complained about are very strange and quite concerning.”

“What exactly are we dealing with?” Shamir asked, crossing her arms.

“It's hard to tell.” Manuela sighed. “I would have to visit Remire and do a more in-depth examination of other sick townsfolk to get enough data to make a prognosis. It's true that the village isn't far away – a two day's march at the slowest – but the Black Eagles still require my tutelage, and even if I brought them along they wouldn't be able to train or learn lessons while I worked.”

“Could Seteth perhaps substitute for you?” Dimitri offered hesitantly.

“I would have to ask him; he has his own duties, after all. He's not particularly busy this month, however, so perhaps your idea has merit. Whatever would we do without you, Prince Dimitri?” The professor winked at him. Dimitri felt a little awkward under the gesture even as he nodded in appreciation.

“I'll report your findings to the Archbishop. The rumors out of Remire have been spreading; she wants to be kept up to date.” Shamir said simply. “Your Highness, we'll handle things from here. Thanks for your help.”

Dimitri bowed and made himself scarce, hearing Shamir and Manuela speaking to each other in low, worried tones up until he began climbing the stairs down to the first floor.

_Remire..._ There was a name that brought back memories. Dimitri hadn't thought too hard on the small village that had been his salvation that fateful night outside of the stories he occasionally overheard from Jeralt's Mercenaries, but from what he remembered it was a very ordinary and peaceful place. A welcoming one. What could possibly bring trouble to such an innocent place? Especially through such crude methods as tampering with their water... _For Miria's mother to send her alone to the monastery to ask for help, in spite of the fact that she was sick, she must be quite afraid. What is going on over there? ...Byleth and Sir Jeralt will certainly want to know about this... I hope they return soon. _

_Byleth and Claude are running late by a few days. I hope they're alright. _

_You worry too damned much, _Glenn said in amusement. _How many times have you seen them in a fight by now? You sound like a fable princess. _

_Please let it go... _Dimitri pleaded, feeling a little familiar warmth in his face. _It's no sin to worry. _

Glenn did have something of a point, at least – he knew perfectly well that the Deer and the Wolves were a strikingly competent bunch. He really shouldn't let himself get worked up until they were a week, two weeks behind without a word or a message to explain the delay. _Then _he would worry, go after them, and give them an Ingrid-style lecture when he found them. _Between Ingrid and I, they'd never go missing again _he thought with a small streak of amusement. It lifted his spirits a bit.

His feet hit the last step with a _clack _that drew him out of his thoughts. Stepping out of the stairwell, Dimitri pondered what to do with his free afternoon for a long minute before deciding to go back to his archery practice. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion had made it plainly clear that he should invest in some way of driving off enemies that could attack from a distance – otherwise he could end up riddled with spears and arrows before he got close to his target. Claude had been both amused and delighted when he humbly repeated his request from the victory feast – about learning how to shoot a war bow – so it sank in all the way.

_I wouldn't have thought that Claude was an affectionate drunk...somehow I anticipated that lowering his defenses would make him sour and bad-tempered, given how often he wears an artificial smile. _Dimitri closed his eyes for a moment as he started making his way toward the barracks. _Either way he's a terrible tease. _

Even knowing that his friend had been partially drunk in that moment didn't disperse the warm bubbly feeling the memory gave him – nor the sense of sad helplessness that always followed directly on its heels. _Even when you're away, you haunt my thoughts. What am I going to do about you, Claude? _

His sense of duty, of honor, was telling him to put these feelings aside for both their sakes. His heart was childishly raging at the unfairness of it all. They were in a constant struggle that ate away at his peace of mind; making him crave distraction.

He'd yet to find a chance to discuss, however indirectly, this struggle with Byleth. She was the only person he could imagine trying to speak to, knowing that she wouldn't judge him, and her council always gave him hope. The fanciful hope of luring her away to Faerghus lingered in the back of his mind, which he felt a little guilty for whenever he dwelled on it – Claude was so often legitimately happy in her presence; to abscond with her would be a little cruel, wouldn't it?

_I need your help, Byleth. What should I do? How do you bury your feelings as deeply as you do to keep them from conflicting with your mission? _

The sun and the clear sky didn't give him an answer...though their warmth was a little comforting, nonetheless.

Upon reclaiming the training bow he'd been using yesterday, Dimitri left Felix and Caspar (as well as Ferdinand and Monica, it should be said...) to their sparring in favor of heading out to the open fields in front of the monastery. He had a rudimentary knowledge of and ability with the bow, having been hunting plenty of times, but there was a difference between hunting game and sniping enemies on the field. He needed to play some catch-up before he was as capable as Ashe or even Felix, who had some archery training that he'd quiet after Glenn – well. Dimitri would improve; Claude's basic instructions were still fresh on his mind despite being a number of days old.

“Oh, your highness – I mean, Dimitri.” He probably shouldn't have been too surprised to find Ashe in the impromptu shooting range that had been set up for them, but he could have sworn the other boy had decided to take the day off. “I hope I'm not intruding here, I just decided-”

“It's no worry my friend, really.” Dimitri smiled at the gray-haired boy, who'd clearly been here for a while judging by the number of arrows lodged into various targets. “Would you be willing to give me some advice while we train? I bow to your superior ability in this area.”

Ashe blushed a bit. “G-Give you advice? S-sure, I guess. I mean, I'm still learning myself, but...” He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn't know you used a bow, Dimitri.”

“I don't, not really. I've been hunting, but I've never used it in combat before.” Dimitri's lip twitched upwards. “Which as Claude has proven to me, is a bit of a problem – and that's putting aside the mages that have troubled me ever since my first deployment. Shall we begin?”

Ashe smiled in understanding and bobbled his head. “Alright, if you're sure. I'll do my best.”

_You ought to be more confident in yourself, _Dimitri thought in mingled amusement and faint exasperation as Ashe began to give him some familiar-sounding advice. _You've improved in leaps and bounce since Magdred. Claude agrees with me. _He was improving virtually neck and neck with Bernadetta; both with his bow and the secondary weapon Byleth had encouraged him to pick up – the lance. Apparently the two were sharing riding classes. Dimitri had little doubt of what sort of combat 'class' the two of them were aiming for.

Archer Knights were infamous for their dominance over the battlefield, which was only matched by wyvern riders and mages with siege magic. (Falcon Knights came close, by they were a bit more fragile than their scaly counterparts and preferred to take out enemy ballistics or magic users). You didn't have to press any veteran knight very hard before they started ranting about how the one time they barely escaped with their lives when a mounted archer rushed them, shot down most of their battalion comrades, and escaped back to their own ranks all in a single charge. The fighting style took a long time and intense training to master, especially since you had to take both hands off the reigns to fight effectively, but those who succeeded were both revered and feared.

_And Ashe is on his way, _Dimitri thought even as he listened with care. _Lonato would be proud to see how much he's improved..._

His own horseback training was progressing smoothly; he had plenty of practice, and it was more a case of him remembering things he'd left to linger than learning. He doubted he'd ever be proficient at horseback archery, however – he would stick with his lance, and use his bow whenever circumstances demanded he fight on foot.

Ashe was rather uncertain about teaching, but watching him was at least as informative as any lecture or written exam on archery. He told Dimitri to move while shooting at the targets, giving him a better idea of how the speed of combat would affect aiming. The prince's initial efforts while taking this advice were...rather embarrassing, to be honest, but it showed what he needed to improve. _I marvel at how easy Byleth, Claude and Bernadetta make this look, _Dimitri thought ruefully.

Practice was long and a little grueling. The bow put pressure on different parts of his arm and shoulder than he was used to when wielding a sword or lance; and after a little while he was quite grateful to be wearing gloves. His fingers were sore, his thumb most of all; his lower back also hurt a bit. If Ashe was at all discomforted, he either wasn't showing it or was used to it.

Dimitri was pleased, though. There were about as many arrows lodged in the various targets as there were littering the grass; a sign of progress. Of course Ashe was out-shooting him easily, but that was to be expected.

Ashe still blushed under any praise from him; he did smile and look a little proud, however. Dimitri considered that a small victory.

The sun had passed the highest point in the sky when the whinnying of horses distracted the two Lions from their practice. Both curious and hopeful, Dimitri slung his bow back over his shoulder and hurried forward until he was at the edge of the hill overlooking the plains below, Ashe directly on his heels. Approaching the monastery on the roads below was the long trail of a merchant caravan and a number of distantly familiar figures. “That's the Professor,” Ashe said in relief. “They've finally made it back!”

Dimitri let out a soft sigh, feeling a tightness in his chest finally ease. “Shall we go down and welcome them back? It looks like they've been escorting those merchants.” Even from this angle, Dimitri could see the Deer had taken a defensive formation on both sides of the two caravans that had joined them on their return journey. “They may need some help.”

Ashe didn't respond instantly; his eyes were flickering around the group as if he was trying to find someone in particular. He jumped and looked a little embarrassed when Dimitri tapped his shoulder. “R-Right, let's go!”

Dimitri made his way down the hill and to the road. As he drew closer to the group, he waved, a gesture that earned surprised cheers from Raphael and Balthus. Byleth, who was up front, smiled brilliantly and picked up her pace, running until she was a few feet away from him. “Hello Dimitri,” She said with the low-key yet warm happiness characteristic of her. “You haven't been waiting out here for us for very long, have you?”

“I was practicing with Ashe, though to be honest I have been a little worried. It's not like you to return so late Professor.” Dimitri gave her a critical once over, noticing with concern that her clothes were rather dirty – as were her hands and hair. All in all, she looked somewhat harried, and a quick look over her shoulder to the approaching caravan showed that she wasn't the only one. “What happened?”

Byleth sighed, a slightly dark look crossing her face. “I'm sorry, I should have sent a letter ahead. We ran into some trouble before we left Alliance Territory.” She glanced back, her eyes momentarily seeking out Raphael. “And by 'trouble', I mean we ended up stumbling on Lord Gloucester's scheme to control trade to Deirdru. Those merchants you see behind us were part of a caravan that we found being set upon by Demonic Beasts and soldiers answering to Lorenz's father.”

Dimitri scowled. “Lord Gloucester set up Alliance citizens to be ambushed?” A wave of revulsion washed over him at Byleth's tight nod. “Did Lorenz know about this?”

“No. He was just as shocked as Ignatz.” Byleth grimaced. “Apparently Ignatz's brother had been complaining to him for a while about how seemingly meaningless blockades were forcing him and other merchant guilds onto more and more dangerous routes. More and more monsters have been slipping out of the Forest of Beasts despite Margrave Edmund's best efforts and Lord Gloucester had been slow to respond to security concerns...clearly he had his own reasons for that, though.”

The prince felt his nails dig painfully into his palm. “That's barbaric.” He spat, catching onto the implications easily. “Can you not prove this?”

“Theoretically, yes. In practice? It would take a long time and the support of some other lords, and that's assuming we could make charges of tyranny stick.” Byleth's eyes darkened further. “And if the rumor that Lord Gloucester previously used this same scheme to kill Godfrey Riegan and Raphael's parents and got away with it, I don't like our chances.”

_Godfrey Riegan...? Wait, Raphael's parents?! _“I can't believe it...everyone knows he did it, but they won't prosecute him?!” Ashe blurted out, eyes wide as dinner plates. “R-really?!” Dimitri gritted his teeth and didn't say anything. _Wasn't the entire point of seceding from Faerghus to prevent blue-blooded souls from doing as they please with the people below them without consequences...!_

“All everyone 'knows' is a rumor,” Byleth crossed her arms. “Unfortunately Lord Gloucester covered his tracks well back then.” She did smile a bit now; it was a distinctly predatory look. “He wasn't so lucky this time, however. I imagine Lord Riegan is going to rake him over coals at the next conference thanks to Claude's letter, and the merchants came with us so they could complain to the Knights of Serios as well.”

“...I suppose that's better than nothing,” Dimitri sighed. Then he frowned, eyeing the approaching crowd again. “Where is Claude, by the way? Is he hurt?”

“Resting in one of the wagons,” Byleth said reassuringly. “He and I loaned our horse to one of the merchants who was hurt in the fight. Everyone's more or less in one piece; just tired and a bit overworked. It was one bad fight more than we were expecting, after all.”

It was around this time that the rest of the deer and the merchants caught up with them. “Marianne!” Ashe said in relief when he spotted the blue-haired girl. “Lysithea! It's good to see you; Annette and I were starting to worry.” He trotted over in their direction as Yuri hopped off the back of the first wagon, Claude directly on his heels.

“Didn't keep you waiting too long, did we?” The brunette asked innocently. He, like Byleth, looked rather dirty and scuffed-up but otherwise in good cheer.

“You're late,” Dimitri responded dryly, determined not to smile and give away the weight of the relief warming his chest. “Does it amuse you to make people worry?”

“You don't think I'm that much of a jerk, do you?” Claude complained; again his casual words were at odds with the bright spark in his emerald eyes. That spark grew a bit brighter as his eyes focused on the bow on his shoulder. “I see Ashe took over instruction while I was out.”

Yuri's eyes moved between the two of them and his eyebrows raised marginally at the banter. “Hm, that reminds me, I really should throw you at him as well Yuri.” Byleth said obliviously just as a sly smile started to cross the violet-eyed teen's face. “You can only really use two spells, and you mentioned before that you were interested in archery. Need to change my schedule again...”

Balthus laughed loudly as Yuri's expression became slightly chagrined. “You do realize that some of us have hobbies outside of training, right Professor?” He asked.

Byleth turned back and gave him an innocent look. “If you've got the time to disappear off into town for 'menial reasons' multiple times a week, you have time to train with a bow,” she chided him. Claude visibly suppressed a snicker while Yuri looked skyward in exasperation. “Of course, I need to report in first...and everyone should take the rest of the day off. You've all more than earned it.” This did earn a number of cheers.

Dimitri offered his assistance and quickly found himself being handed a number of gifts the merchants had set aside for the Deer and Wolves in thanks for their rescue mission. They took the form of somewhat exotic weapons, medical concoctions, and gold – a not insignificant amount of gold, at that. While all the merchants were healthy and hale thanks to Marianne, they were still rather rattled and nervous, which Dimitri didn't blame them for in the slightest – knowing their local lord was responsible for their attempted murders must be hard to face. He and the Deer lead them into the front town, where surprisingly enough Shamir was having a conversation with Catherine. Byleth directed the merchants over to them, urging them to speak plainly about what happened, before clapping and urging her students to bathe and get some rest.

It was seeing Shamir, however, that reminded Dimitri of what had happened this morning, and he lightly touched Byleth's shoulder before she, Claude and Yuri could disperse. “Professor, there's something you should know.” He said.

She frowned at him. “What's happened?”

“Miria from Remire arrived at the monastery yesterday, alone. She was quite sick, and she was asking for you and Captain Jeralt.”

Byleth's eyes widened immediately. “Miria?!” She blurted out, sharp alarm in her usually serene voice. Claude's expression flattened in surprise while Yuri looked puzzled. “Is she alright? Where is she?!”

“She's stable, and sleeping as far as I know. Manuela is looking after her in the hospital wing.” Dimitri looked around the crowded market and sighed. “Let's move over to the pier...something disturbing is going on...”

Visibly worried – despite how increasingly expressive she had become, it was still startling to see Byleth react so strongly to something... she'd even had a fairly matter-of-fact attitude to revealing that Sothis was living within her. She immediately took the lead, hurrying out of the market place toward the comparatively quieter docks. Claude and Yuri exchanged a look before following along as well; Dimitri didn't mind. Hopefully they could lend some insight...

Once they reached the docks, Dimitri sat next to Byleth on the pier and quickly explained everything that had happened since Miria stumbled across him in the fields; her symptoms, the odd and worrying stories coming out of Remire, and the mysterious figure attached to it. The Professor's expression quickly became stormy and unreadable, her fingers digging into her knees as she listened.

“Wait, hang on a sec-” Claude frowned, his brow furrowed. “Long black hair, lots of burns, weird accent? Isn't that the Atra that we met down in Abyss?”

“Huh?” Dimitri blinked. He didn't remember that...

“That sounds just like her,” Yuri said slightly uneasily. “She mentioned that her companion was visiting Remire back when we were dealing with the Chalice. How long has this been festering...?”

“I think I remember her...” Byleth frowned at Yuri. “Though I thought she was one of your people.”

Yuri made a 'so-so' gesture with his hands. “Sort of...I met her roughly two years ago; she'd been seriously hurt in some sort of fight, crawled down into the tunnels to hide from her pursuers. She hadn't known anyone else was down there, and it took quite a bit of convincing to get her to believe that no one would rat her out. She keeps all the rules and often helps bring people here to hide, but half the time she vanishes off to do her own thing...and I see her friend even less than her.”

“Who is she?” Byleth asked tightly.

Yuri blew out a breath, frowning. “No one knows. Atra _does not _talk about her past. That's hardly a rarity in Abyss; most people are running from things they're trying to forget about. But half of what intrigues me about Atra is that I can't really intuit who she might have been before. Between the books she finds, some of the stuff she says the few times she lets herself get tipsy...well, my current working theory was that she was from an obscure family right on the Alliance border who got expelled from the Eastern Church for high heresy. And I'm not willing to bet too much on that.”

“Do you think she's trustworthy? Miria said that she's been giving the villagers counter-agents to whatever's affecting them.” Dimitri asked.

Yuri snorted. “You're asking the wrong guy about 'trust'; that's a pretty new concept to me.” Claude closed his eyes for a split second at that remark. “Do I think Atra is a dangerous woman? You're damn right I do. Do I think she's a danger to your average peasant...? Not hardly. Saying or even implying something that devalues someone else's life is near-guaranteed to get you one of her swords through the eye and right out the back of your head.” He shrugged uneasily. “Her companion, I can't really say anything about. He doesn't talk much, but Atra trusts him, so I think it's safe to assume they have similar values.”

“Nothing at all?” Claude sounded surprised.

“He seems to be a quiet guy, and I've only met him a handful of times compared to Atra.” Yuri looked contemplative. “He'd a wickedly capable swordmaster, though unlike her he sticks to just one sword. One thing I have noticed is that he seems to unknowingly swing between perfect Faerghus combat styles and less smooth self-taught movements. I suspect he got seriously injured at some point and had to re-teach himself on the fly. ”

Byleth seemed to slump a bit at this. “At least that's good news.” She whispered.

Dimitri hesitated a moment, then gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Professor?” He prompted.

Byleth closed her eyes. “I...I owe the people of Remire.” She said quietly. “That village is the closest thing I've ever had to a home before I came here. They were the first people who truly welcomed me. When father brought me there, sick with fever and wounded from battle, they took us in and cared for me without hesitation. No one there was ever afraid of me. I...I can't let anything bad happen to them.” She raised a hand and pulled at a loose lock of her hair, agitation in her eyes.

“Then we'll make sure they stay safe,” Claude piped up seriously. “Troubling rumors, a weird sickness flaring up – that's enough to warrant an investigation from the church, isn't it? Wouldn't want to risk it turning to a plague, even if you dismiss foul play as a possibility.”

“Father has the authority to order one,” Byleth noted, scrubbing her face tiredly. “I just have to wait until he comes back. And see Miria myself. Erin – her mother – has cooked for us many times in the past. In hindsight, it's too bad we couldn't stay a day back then and be treated to their hospitality. She's...she's really good at it.” She bit her lip. “I hope Micah hasn't gotten too sick. They're twins, and quite close despite what they might tell you...I can't believe Erin didn't send them together. I can't believe she sent Miria _alone_. What is going on back there?”

_Nothing good, _Glenn said unhelpfully. Dimitri very carefully avoided reacting to the sudden intrusion...but he wasn't sure he succeeded, because Claude gave him an odd look.

“She'll be happy to see you when she wakes up,” He said instead, doing his best to give her a reassuring smile when she turned toward him. “She was asking after you.”

Byleth's expression softened just a bit. _It's almost cruel how beautiful you are when you look happy... _“She's a sweet girl,” she said quietly. “I'm glad she's recovering. I'll go and see her once I've had a bath and look slightly less bedraggled.”

* * *

“Dimitri, might I have a moment of your time?”

Dimitri blinked, one hand still resting on the pew he'd just started to leave. “Ah...yes, Seteth, certainly. Is something the matter?”

The green haired bishop eyed him for a minute before saying, “Not necessarily, there's merely something I wished to ask you.”

Nodding in slight confusion, Dimitri gestured for Ingrid and Mercedes to go on without him and followed Seteth back to his office on the second floor. While on the way up, he spotted Byleth heading to the hospital wing and caught her eye; she smiled and gave him a small wave before continuing on her way. Just that little gesture made him feel slightly giddy. Just as nice was Seteth's reaction; a warm greeting, a quick inquiry into Miria's health and informing the professor that she was welcome to eat lunch with the village girl if she thought that would help her mood. It seemed whatever concerns the bishop had over Byleth's loyalties had been thoroughly buried by her rescue of Flayn; now the older man treated her with the same friendly concern he expressed for all other students.

“Sit, please,” Seteth said lightly, gesturing to the chair facing his desk. Dimitri nodded, glancing at an open book on the wooden desktop as he did so. It looked like a children's book, judging by the larger-than-usual letters and simple sentences. _I wonder why he'd have one of those here? _

“Has something happened in Faerghus?” Dimitri asked, concern niggling at the back of his mind. “Have you been sent notice to recall me?”

“No, nothing that severe. It's a matter concerning you and your health, however.” Seteth said severely as he sat down across from him.

“I'm not sure I understand...” Dimitri said, blinking.

Seteth sighed and pointedly asked, “Dimitri, when was the last time you slept through the night without interruption of any sort?”

“That's-” Dimitri hesitated; his knee-jerk reaction was to deny it. “The last few days have been fairly peaceful...why?”

“Because according to the servants, you seem to spend more of your nights awake than not,” Seteth responded, a chiding note in his voice. Dimitri rather felt like he was ten years old, being scolded by Rodrigue for trying to ride one of the more fiery stallions without permission. “You're going to make yourself quite ill if this continues, not to mention how it will weaken your body. Why have you not asked Professor Manuela for medicine? There are aides for such difficulties here.”

“I didn't want to be a bother,” Dimitri responded evasively. “I do try and rest when possible whenever my nights are difficult. It's not truly-”

“_Dimitri_,” Seteth interrupted sternly. “Attempting to care for your health does not make you a bother. As a matter of fact, it is part of our responsibilities while you are here. If you continue to loose sleep as you have the past month or so, I _strongly _encourage you to seek Professor Manuela out.”

“I – yes, sir.” Dimitri said, abashed. _I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be a constant source of concern for others. I have to be able to fight and function even when I'm weak, sick, flagging. Or else I'll just be dead weight, just like I was back then..._

Seteth's frown deepened a bit at whatever he saw in Dimitri's eyes then. “Has something been troubling you since you arrived here?”

“No, I just have a lot of on my mind.” _You have enough trouble to sort through with the continued conflict with the Western Church without bearing my burdens as well. _“There are many things to attend to, even putting my studies aside.”

“...I sincerely hope you aren't overworking yourself due to misplaced feelings borne from that incident.”

Dimitri shook his head even as his heart was clenched in a vice. “No. I will get stronger yet, but I'm mindful of my limits.”

_Liar, _Glenn snorted.

The prince bit his lip and didn't reply.

“Well, I'm glad to hear that at least.” Seteth said, clasping his hands together. “Go and speak to Manuela before you sleep tonight. The better rested you are, the easier it will be to learn.”

“Very well. Thank you for your concern for me.” Dimitri bowed politely. It was a genuinely a surprise to realize that the taciturn man had been keeping a concerned eye on him – and that the maids he occasionally ran into when wandering the halls at night were also worried about him. It wasn't a bad feeling, it was just surprising.

“It's no trouble. It is my duty as an overseer of the academy.”

_I don't think he believes you, _his father noted mildly as Dimitri was dismissed and left Seteth's office. _You're a poor liar, my son._

_I'll leave that to Claude and Yuri, _Dimitri thought back darkly, his mind briefly drifting to Lord Gloucester. _I'm not an Alliance lord._

Glenn chuckled. _Yeah, you'd be dead in a few days. _He could feel his friend's eyes boring into him. _You're not going to let this distract you from your search, right? You aren't going to stop. _

_Of course not. _

Dimitri glanced down the hallway toward the hospital wing. After hesitating for a moment, he retraced his footsteps there until he was standing by the open doorway.

Inside, Byleth was sitting next to Miria's bed. The little girl was gesturing animatedly, anxiety and concern radiating off of her voice as she babbled about how strangely everyone had been acting recently. Byleth mostly let her talk, only making her pause to ask the occasional question, all while brushing her small friend's hair. The scene was so innocent and sweet that he loathed to intrude on them.

“It'll be alright. As soon as father gets back, we should be able to come and investigate.” Byleth promised. “You'll see Micah soon, I promise.”

Miria didn't respond vocally; Byleth put the hairbrush down and gently put both her arms around the girl's shoulders, tugging her back against her chest. Miria let out a small whine and leaned into her; the stress of having to flee her home and go alone to get help having clearly sunk in by now. She was clinging to the familiar powerful figure of her older protector. “Kay, Byleth.”

Byleth stroked her hair. Dimitri smiled softly at the sight; he wondered if she ever entertained the notion of being a mother. It didn't seem like something she would have given much though to...but if she had, would she...? She slid into the role so easily.

Could he ask her about it at some point? It would be terribly forward of him, but-

Dimitri felt himself blush and quickly pulled himself away, leaning against the wall. _I'm a mess, _he thought shaky internal laugh. _She's too good for a man like me. She deserves someone whole, not a boar struggling with his bloodlust. _

_Claude would make a better match for her than me._

* * *

Jeralt returned with little fanfare that evening. He'd quickly come to visit Miria as well, along with Hannah, Falrie and Gustav of the mercenaries – easily the three that Dimitri recognized the fastest. The little girl recognized all of them and was so relieved she cried.

“My child and I owe a great debt to Remire,” Jeralt had reiterated to Lady Rhea and Seteth after Miria cried herself to sleep. “If something's going on there, I have to find out what and put a stop to it.”

“Fair enough,” Seteth shook his head. “There are rumors about peasants and travelers on the road behaving strangely aggressive for the past several weeks. If Remire is the source of them, it's best that it is located and stamped out.”

“Take our Professor and her class along with you, along with anyone who volunteers.” Rhea urged him, her eyes gentle and serene as ever despite the worry in her voice. “If we cannot protect those who look to us for hope and protection, then what does the church exist for?”

Dimitri hadn't given it much thought himself before going to his class and suggesting the notion of volunteering. In a way, he owed Remire as well; it was because of them that he met Byleth and Jeralt and they saved his life. And that was before he considered the fact that they were peasants, defenseless and powerless, at the mercy of a phantom evil...just like many of his own people, who still had to lock their gates in fear of bandits and deserters from the army.

Thankfully, he didn't need to argue for very long. Dedue and Mercedes agreed without question, which was what he expected. Felix was a little more sanguine about the whole matter, noting that if it was just an illness there wasn't much he'd be able to do to help. However, he eventually agreed, after Annette and Ashe threw their lot in to going.

“It's true that it could be nothing,” Ashe had said with an edge of urgency. “But what if it is something? I think the more of us go, the better. I mean, we loose nothing if it's just a contaminated well – it's just a two day trip.”

“He's right. Besides, it's not like we can't help with illnesses! I've learned to heal from Mercie, and there are other tricks mother taught me to fight off potential plague spread,” Annette agreed quickly.

So it was a sizable force that left Garreg Mach the next day to travel to Remire – the Blue Lions, the Golden Deer, and the whole of Jeralt's Mercenaries. When the latter had often been split up to handle different missions while acting in concert with the Knights of Serios, it made for quite the scene to see them all together. Admittedly, the effect was a little undermined by how visibly tense both Byleth and Jeralt himself were. While Byleth wasn't highly talkative on most occasions, now she was completely silent – only answering questions asked to her, and even then her answers were brief and to the point. Jeralt mirrored this stony silence despite Alois's best efforts; he only broke it to bark orders or think aloud on the situation. Dimitri, having warmed up to the pair's odd deadpan humor and frequent gruff fussing, found the silence suffocating.

Claude clearly didn't like it either. Nor the fact that he couldn't really seem to distract Byleth from the dark direction of her thoughts despite his efforts, which usually worked to boot.

_You've seen her like this once before. _His father murmured. _Remember? _

Dimitri bit his lip hard. _Yes. While we were running from the chalice's defenses, she was... _he could see flashes of her expressions while running, while fighting for her life (fighting for their lives his life-)

Stone faced. Determined. _Scared_. The only difference here was that she was a calmer and composed, and not running herself ragged.

_I think I see where it might have come from. Gargoyle. _His father regarded her thoughtfully. _If she went into all her fights with that cold, expressionless face..._ Dimitri shook his head. _Perhaps you two have more in common than you believe._

_You're wrong! _

“Dimitri?” Annette's voice cut into his thoughts. “You look like you're miles away.”

“Ah, sorry...” Dimitri managed not to wince, but it took some effort. It had been a while since he'd slipped up like that in public...sunk into the halfway point between this life and the next without realizing it. With a start he realized that this hadn't happened in a while; in fact, the last significant time it had happened was back in the Abyss over a month ago. How had that happened? “I was thinking so loudly, I couldn't hear you.”

He could feel Felix scowling at his back. He wondered how his old friend always seemed to be aware when he was slipping.

It was a few hours later that they first saw the smoke curling up beyond the trees.

* * *

The first thing Dimitri heard was the screaming.

It hit his ears like a physical blow. Staggered him. His completely numb fingers jabbed into his palm as he picked up the pace, being a few feet behind Byleth as she rushed ahead ignoring Alois's worried shouts and various calls from their fellow students. The screaming grew louder the closer they ran, the smell of smoke filled his nose, and the cries they heard were mingled with the crackle-snap of multiple raging fires. Byleth darted through a familiar set of trees and entered a very familiar field – (he and Claude had run through here to reach Remire back then hadn't they?) – before coming to a harsh stop. Somehow, even over the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his ears, Dimitri heard the strangled gasp that escaped her throat when he came up next to her – staring out at what she was seeing.

Remire was on fire. From their vantage point, he could see multiple large blazes across the fields and houses that made up people's homes. Within the smoke and illuminated by the fires, there were knots of people scrambling to and fro, some seemingly trying to get to the gates while others were trying to overrun the former. It was hard to see from here, but there was a center in which he could see figures moving like in a fight.

Byleth inhaled faintly. Then she started running again, darting across the field like a dark blue arrow. Dimitri blinked hard, refocusing on the flames in front of him rather than the images interposing themselves on top of the nightmare before him, and rushed after her.

They were through the gates moments later, heedless to the fact that their fellow students and allies were still catching up to them.

And reaching the heart of the chaos revealed a whole new kind of madness...

There were bunches of terrified peasants – young and old, hale or bleeding from terrible wounds – hiding among farm trees or behind damaged houses in hopes of finding tangible cover. The others...were men in robes, and other peasants clutching fire axes and kitchen knives. The men in robes were near the middle of the village, throwing blasts of magic against a figure who dodged and blocked, moving from cover to cover due to how outnumbered they was.

But it was the peasants that drew his eyes.

There eyes were white, glazed and unfocused. Droll and foam dripped from their mouths; they ran jerkily and without care for where they put their feet. Their clothes caught fire and their feet trampled over burned corpses. They laughed wildly, or gibbered and sputtered “Kill! Kill!” or “Hurts! Huuuurts!” even as they threw themselves at their neighbors, slashing wildly with their improvised weapons.

Byleth ran for the nearest knot of peasants, drawing the Creator's Sword and lashing out at the nearest mad peasant – forcing them back. Dimitri drew his lance, trusting Sothis to guide his professor, and looked to find some place in this madness to start making some headway.

His eyes fell on something that seared into his vision.

A maddened peasant brought back the ax he had just swung at a small child, who's clothes had caught fire as he attempted to climb into the burning house to escape his tormentor. Dimitri caught a sight of heather brown hair. Just like Miria's.

He heard the maddened peasant laugh even above the chaos and screaming.

Red bled into his vision. Dimitri didn't really feel himself move; he crossed the distance in an instant, smacking the ax aside with his bare hand when the enemy tried to attack him. The ax flew off to the side; Dimitri grabbed the man's face and surged toward the building, slamming his enemy's skull into the wall. He felt the bone shatter and _pulp _under his fingers, felt the dying shudders of the body before it went inert. He slammed the remains against its wall three more times regardless, leaving an indentation in the brick and stone before letting the body drop. Spinning around, he searched for another enemy within the Red.

It wasn't hard. Beyond a wall of fire, he saw another maddened peasant running through debris toward a cowering couple. Dimitri let his rage carry him forward – right through the fire and into the peasant, slamming her into the ground. He grabbed the back of her head and slammed her into the ground. _Go to the goddess, _some distant voice in his head murmured. Was it his? He coudn't tell. He savagely stomped on the neck – hearing it crack under his heel.

Vaguely he heard the frightened peasants try to say something to him. He looked back the way he came, coolly estimating if he could lead them safely out of the front gate. A pair of maddened peasants were blocking off his way. “Come,” He ordered them sharply, snatching the knife from the woman he'd killed and throwing it at one of the maddened's back. There was an audible _crack!_, and the man dropped like a stone as sure as a wyvern had landed on his back. “Stay behind me. Quickly.” The words came out as a snarl.

They obeyed him quickly. Dimitri surged forward, jumping over the fire again. His fist slammed into the second peasant's skull as he whirled to face him. Again he felt bones crunch and shatter under his fist as the body dropped before him. He didn't stop, or even pause. He had to focus a little attention on not breaking his lance as he moved forward with the peasants at his heels.

A man in robes approached. Dimitri rammed his lance through his throat, spinning around before the corpse even hit the ground. He wrenched the lance free and then struck down another man he didn't recognize; not that it mattered. The Red blurred everything except the frightened people cowering in the side and the flares of light from Byleth's relic weapon.

One of the peasants behind him cried out in alarm. Dimitri spun around and barked “Duck!” before throwing his lance. The weapon went straight through the head of the mage who had appeared behind the three innocents he was guiding. “Bastard,” the prince sneered even as a maddened peasant grabbed him from behind. He threw his head back, grinning savagely when he felt cartilage shatter while he threw off the enemy's arms. “Come on,” He said as he drove his heel into the downed woman's stomach, ignoring the ugly gurgling noise.

He threw down two more people standing in his way before he reached the gates with them in tow. Just outside those iron doors, he saw his fellow students staring in alarm and horror at the chaos before their eyes suddenly focused on him and his passengers. Dimitri put his hand on the youngest's shoulders and pushed her the rest of the way out of the village; the blood and gore dripping from his fingers stained her hair. He'd have to apologize later.

_Why are they just standing there? Can't they see what's happening here?! _Dimitri spun around, distantly aware of his friends trying to speak to him. Having saved those three, he returned to the fires, desperate to find more.

_because no one had come for them_

_no one had made it in time_

_gustav didn't come in time to save Glenn_

_he couldn't do a thing could barely walk, his head was spinning so violently _

_they died burning died screaming died without hope died surrounded by their laughing enemies_

The Red seemed to grow brighter as he plunged back into the heart of Remire, looking for Byleth. Unsurprisingly a number of innocent peasants rushed past him, their way to safety cleared by her and her sword; his eyes found a familiar flash of magic straight ahead. Byleth had rushed to aid the person fighting a dozen of those men in black robes; he went to catch up with her when she saw him over her shoulder.

“I'll handle this!” She screamed back at him before pointing up to the right corner of the village. “There are other people trapped in the flames, please, go find them!”

“I understand!” He yelled back before tearing off the way he had come from before. The hoof-beats of a horse sounded near him, and he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eyes. _Sylvain. _Good. He'd be able to move people out faster than Dimitri himself could do on foot. Glancing over his shoulder briefly, he saw Claude, Jeralt and Lysithea running to join Byleth in the heart of the village.

Dimitri felt a bloody smile on his face.

Making his way past a burning house and making his way into what had been an orchard before it was set ablaze. Two young people were trying to escape from the burning trees, but were stymied by both a maddened figure and two men in black robes. Moments before Dimitri and Sylvain caught up with them, a black-coated figure darted across the field and slammed his sword into one of the mage's back, cutting him down. This distracted the other two from their approaching enemies, and Dimitri used the lance he'd recovered to cut down the maddened sword-wielder. Sylvain ran down the mage and pulled on the reigns of his horse, leading it in a circle before offering his hand to the two trapped peasants. “Hang on!” He shouted. “We're here to get you out!”

Dimitri spun and eyed the black-clad swordsman warily through the Red. He made no attempt to approach the two trapped peasants after Sylvain started to pull them up upon his horse, instead lowering his sword slightly in a gesture of relief. “Thank you.” The voice was low and raspy, hard to hear over the chaos around them. “There are several other people trapped up ahead...there are a couple of obstacles as well as enemies. Please help me.”

“Who are you?” Dimitri demanded harshly.

The stranger let out a dark chuckle. “I wish I could remember,” he responded. Even if Dimitri had the presence of mind to try to puzzle that out, he wasn't given the chance before the swordsman turned around. “We need to hurry. Atra is trying to draw most of the men away.”

Then he ran the man ran up the slope. Dimitri watched Sylvain vanish back toward the entrance only to be quickly replaced with a gravely determined looking Ingrid astride her pegasus, shook his head and then followed. _If he's trying to trap me, I'll just kill him on my way to the hostages, _he decided.

It didn't matter who got in his way. He dashed them into the ground, refusing to let them slow him down. He wouldn't fail, wouldn't be too late, not this time, not for these people -

The ground kept shifting under his feet. Duscur flickered in and out of his vision as fires burned and the screaming started to grow less consistent, replaced by laughter and cursing. Bile had formed a rock in his throat, and his heart was pounding painfully. He ignored it, fought to focus, fought to ignore the ringing in his ears – did his best to focus on Ingrid's voice as she called out to him.

“There are ten people trapped up above the ridge! More of those crazed peasants are trying to reach them – that man's getting close, but he can only reach one of the two groups on his own.”

“Then we'll take the other,” Dimitri bit out when he reached the bottom of the ridge. He climbed it in a few steps, grabbing a fallen sword off the ground as he went. He saw the hooded figure turn to the right about halfway up the ridge, approaching the two mages who spun to face him; distracting them from the three girls hiding in a bush. Dimitri made his way past him, approaching the top of the slope where an older man was trying to shield a number of children from approaching maddened peasants.

Ingrid threw a javelin with precious precision, taking out one of them. Dimitri surged forward and impaled the second one on his lance; he let go of the lance to duck under the wild knife swings of the third peasant before grabbing his wrist and wrenching it out of its socket. Yanking the man forward so he fell onto his knees and quickly slammed his knee into the man's skull. Another _crack-snap-shatter,_ another corpse dropped limply from his hands. There was a rush of wind as Ingrid brought her pegasus down onto the grass not far from him, throwing another lance at another mage who had been approaching them from behind.

Dimitri straightened up, frowning a bit on his hands. They were murky with gore, blood and chips of bone. Hissing, he shook his hands in an attempt to clean them slightly before retrieving his lance.

Then he looked down the hill, and his eyebrows shot up.

A pair of maddened peasants had slipped up on the black clad figure as he was guiding the girls up the slope toward them. Rather than be stopped by this, the man had ducked, blocked a second strike, and demolished both men at the same time despite having to stay in place to defend the peasants. He killed both of them with not inconsiderable finesse, but he was staggered a bit and ended up loosing his hood. Nevertheless, he made his way up the hill to join them-

Dimitri choked on clean air.

The fallen hood revealed a mess of tangled dark blue hair, tied back in a messy ponytail that was coming loose, strands falling around his face. One of his dark eyes was marred by a burn scar that crossed over it and the bridge of his nose. He was tall, and the young man stared back at him with grim relief mixed with stoic concentration.

He knew this face. He'd seen this face in his dreams, in the ghost that followed seemingly his every move. It shouldn't have been a surprise to see him.

But Ingrid was next to him. Ingrid clapped both hands over her mouth, a strangled noise coming from the depths of her throat. She stared at the black-clad young man with disbelieving eyes, seemingly forgetting where she was before at last whispering-

“Glenn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't see that coming? 
> 
> So I thought for a while how I was going to tackle the Remire chapter, seeing as it's the first time that Dimitri unleashes the 'boar' and a pretty important character moment for him. Eventually I decided to have it be a collab just like the first mission in the mausoleum. It ended up getting much, much longer than I expected however, and I wanted both Dimitri and Claude's viewpoint for the battle, so I've split it in two. Hope that's alright.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude witnesses Dimitri's darker side, gets thrown around, and meets some interesting individuals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does this count as a double-tap? Not quite, but it feels close.

_A hand lightly rested on his shoulder, shaking him. “Wake up, young lord. Seteth is going to find you if you keep doing this.”_

_Claude started awake, blinking rapidly as the low light of the lanterns came back into focus. His back ached from the position he'd gone to sleep in; he winced as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders and wincing as he looked down at the open book that had been his pillow. “Ngh...note to self, start bringing Linhardt along to act as an alibi,” He muttered. _

_The words drew a laugh from Tomas, showing it was indeed the librarian who had woken him. The old man smiled when the brunette finally tilted his head to look up at him, squinting a bit through tired eyes. “All the excuses in Fodlan won't help if he finds you with 'dangerous' literature. As endearing as your curiosity is, shouldn't you be focusing on studying?”_

“_I'm done for the week.” Claude complained as he closed the book. It was an old account of Adrestian capital from before the Empire was formed. Why would Seteth have the need to remove that from the library? “This is a hobby.”_

“_Hahaha...! In all my years, I've never heard of a student describing paging through these dusty old tomes as a hobby.” Tomas said with a hearty chuckle. “Though if you're truly so inclined...” He ruffled through the large bag he was carrying and placed another worn, weathered book on top of the first one. “This was written by the same author about the north. Perhaps you'll find it illuminating.”_

“_Ah! Thanks, Tomas, you're a lifesaver.” Claude snatched the book up and turned through the first few pages. Sure enough, the writing style was the exact same. “I thought I'd have to spend another two weeks looking for something like this.”_

_Tomas hummed while Claude got up, books under one arm, wincing and muttering to himself as he stretched his cramped muscles. “Humor an old man for a moment, my lord...but why are you so interested in in times long gone?”_

_Claude smirked at him. “If we don't know what happened before, nothing will ever change,” He said vaguely, grinning. _

“_What kind of change do you wish for?”_

“_The kind that makes enemies...so, thanks for not ratting me out the last two times you fond me in here. I want to finish up my year of study under Teach before getting on Seteth's last nerve.”_

_Perhaps it was because he was only half awake or the light reflecting in the old man's eyes was tricking his mind, but Claude swore that Tomas regarded him with a very calculated look for a long moment. “I'm a man of learning,” he said serenely, “it always warms my heart to see children these days dedicated to seeking more knowledge for the future.”_

* * *

Claude, pulling his eyes away from Tomas standing in front of Remire's windmill with a honor guard of black-clad soldiers, told himself that he didn't have time to feel stupid right now.

“Ignatz, Leonie, help Lorenz get them out of here!” He yelled with a quick wave before rapidly drawing and fire at a mage trying to sneak up on Atra and Byleth. The forest cover caused him to miss, but the noise alerted his Teach who spun around and threw a fireball at the offending party, setting his robes on fire. Lorenz, two children balanced precariously on his horse's saddle, appeared from the row of houses and tore as fast as he dared toward the village entrance. Felix was right behind him, supporting an older man with a bad leg while a terrified-looking Bernadetta nevertheless guarded them with her arrows.

“Got it!” Leonie shouted even as her horse reared back and slammed one iron-shoed foot into an enemy archer. Claude couldn't hear it over the fire and chaos all about, but he was pretty sure the impact cracked or outright shattered the guy's skull. The girl pulled on the reigns, struggling for a moment to regain control of her horse as the flames and screaming spooked the usually sedate stallion. “C'mon big guy, save it for later! We've got work to do!”

Ignatz ran around and pulled lightly on the reigns as well, helping her turn her mount around before rushing to catch up with Lorenz.

That as long as Claude could watch them, though – an armored knight immediately zoned in on him. Cursing, he moved backwards, weaving through the bush and rubble to find another vantage point. The man was fairly persistent-

-but his helmet must have blocked his peripheral vision, because Hilda – mace blazing with green light – shot out from behind a crumbled wall and swung the weapon at his chest. She threw him back into another wall where he went limp. “Thanks,” He said quickly even as he strung up another arrow, eyes sweeping the field. He shot down another archer – this one had been taking aim at Jeralt, who was tearing rings of retribution through the black-clad men trying to surround them, leaving unconscious maddened peasants in his wake.

Sothis help him (_she was, technically, but if she could do more-)_, but it was _hard _to take out the peasants who had gone crazy without killing them! He was trying his hardest, but the last one had nearly killed him thanks to his holding back. The maddened peasants seemed to either be immune to pain or were so drunk on whatever the fuck had been done to them that they didn't care about it; one kept crawling after him even after he shot out his knee, another one actually pushed her face into the blade of his ax in order to get her hands around his neck... There had been a maddened _child _who stabbed him in the leg with a kitchen knife; mercifully he'd been fairly easy to choke unconscious, but the shock had nearly froze him up.

It was a nightmare. _This _was a nightmare. Nothing could compare to the horror show playing out around him!

“Annette, can you see Dedue?” Claude yelled when the orange-haired girl caught his eye. He pointed an arrow across the field to where Dedue and Mercedes were backed into a corner, protecting a wounded woman from advancing maddened ones. She nodded frantically. “Go help him! I'll cover you!”

Somehow he'd stumbled into the role of on-field tactician for _both _the Blue Lions and Golden Deer classes after they forced their way into the village proper; Byleth was alarmingly quiet except for occasional shouted orders or calls for help. Claude was fairly certain he was on top of the situation – _he really bloody well hoped he was_ – and he needed to stay that way. Keep everyone organized, prepared, and working in teams.

Couldn't think about Tomas being here or what that implied. Couldn't look back over the past few months and wonder how he'd been so stupid, how he'd _missed _it – he didn't have the time.

“Ashe, what's going on with Dimitri and Ingrid? Why aren't they back yet?” Claude yelled when the silver-haired boy emerged from the far side of the village and scrambled his way, his quiver half empty and a bloody lance in one hand. Blood had splattered his face and hair as well; once Ashe skidded to a halt several feet away from him, he could see mingled shock, horror and grief in his friend's face. Claude felt a stab of sympathy but knew he had to file it away for later. “Ashe!”

“They're okay,” Ashe responded shakily. Claude handed him a few arrows before straining to see into the far right corner of the village, past the windmill. He could see some movement beyond the hedges, but he couldn't see Dimitri.

And that really fucking worried him because the last time he saw Dimitri there was _gore dripping off of his fingers!_

He couldn't forget the _look _on the prince's face when he'd all but pushed the first few stragglers out of the village, when they'd finally caught up with him and Teach. He was going to see it in his dreams for a long time. The blonde was completely covered in blood splatters, magnificently indifferent to the bits of flesh between his fingers and the _chips of bone _stuck under his nails. He'd barely acknowledged them before turning and running back the way he'd came, but not before glaring at them.

That look of pure, concentrated _rage _and _hate _had shaken Claude to his core.

His father would have called it Asch's Rage; battle fever, war's cry. When men gave in to the call of war and were consumed by it, knowingly throwing away mercy, wisdom and love in the name of destroying their enemies for good. A great warrior may well channel Asch's very soul when they succumbed on the battlefield...

“-could see them, but they were just standing on the hill,” Ashe fretted, pulling him back to the present. Claude cursed himself for getting distracted even for a moment. “They didn't look like they were hurt, but there was someone else standing there with them – it looked like they were talking -”

Claude nearly said a few words in his first tongue before catching himself. “This is not the time,” He muttered before saying, “send Dedue after them once he's freed up, I need Dimitri down here!”

“Ah – okay, got it.” Ashe said hurriedly before his eyes widened. “Ah Claude, there's a villager coming up behind us-”

The brunette spun on his heels and brought his bow up, taking aim at the drooling, screeching figure. He promptly impaled their shoulder with an arrow; Ashe's follow-up hit the thigh, dropping the villager to the ground as they snarled in pain. Letting out a relieved sigh, Claude darted just close enough to kick the improvised weapon – this one had a fence post – off into the bushes before following it up with a kick to the face. “Raph, you got this?” He asked when he saw the big guy running his way, another villager slung over one shoulder.

“No problem, Claude!” Raphael said without a trace of his usual cheer. He actually looked angry, which wasn't an expression that Claude had ever seen on his face before. _That makes this a day of firsts, doesn't it? _He thought rather inanely.

“Then find Marianne or Mercedes,” The brunette said in concern, eyeing the big brawler and noting that his arms and legs had some pretty nasty cuts and bruises on them. “Or any of the mages, really – everyone's learned the basic healing spell.”

Raphael nodded to show he understood before hurrying back to the village entrance where knots of surviving villagers were lingering just outside the danger zone, with Falrie tending to injuries and Hannah, Juno and Justine of Jeralt's Mercenaries standing guard. Hopefully Falrie could spare a moment to clean his classmate up...

Claude nodded sharply and jumped over a pile of hot rubble to reach another partially crumbled wall. He saw Ashe rushing toward Dedue, who tilted his to hear his words while Annette pulled one of the women to her feet. Then he found Byleth again – much to his relief, she still looked alright.

She was standing back to back with Atra, watching the field around them for any other maddened villagers who might approach them out of the flames. Bodies littered the ground around them; Claude looked down at the nearest corpse clad in black. His eyes fell on the exposed arm near him, and he could feel his eyebrows shoot upward; the man's skin was so white it was practically the same color as _chalk; _it was too smooth and wrinkle-free to be the result of overused beauty products or something similar. _What the hell? _

“Tomas!” Byleth shouted, stepping a foot forward and glaring up toward the windmill. Claude flinched. He could hear grief and anguish beneath the burning rage in her voice, and if he could hear it, he bet Tomas could too... “What are you doing here?!”

Over the flames and thinning screams, a chuckle rushed over the battlefield. “I am not Tomas,” the man said evenly, easily, as if he was about to offer her a recommendation from the library. “That was merely a disguise that has served its purpose for the mission.”

Atra snorted. Claude's eyes were drawn back to her as she speared an ax-wielding man in black who had started to recover without even looking at him. The man screamed in agony; couldn't fault him, the brunette thought with a wince as he stared at the brilliant orange flames wreathing the black steel of the blade. _Never seen anything like that before...closest comparison is the levin sword. How can she use that thing without burning herself? _“Of course. What's one more murder in the name of a successful mission?” She muttered half to herself, keeping half a foot behind Byleth. Claude watched her, both surprised and pleased to see the guarded stance she took on. She was on their side; at least for now.

“What's going on?” Lysthiea's voice came out in a strangled whisper; the white haired girl appeared at his elbow, staring wide-eyed up at Tomas. “Him? How...?”

“The damned librarian?” Felix added harshly from behind. “He was at the monastery this entire damned time?!” Bernadetta let out a small whimper of horror.

“My name is Solon, the savior of all!” Tomas declared. Then he was surrounded by a mini hurricane of magic. Claude blinked a few times to focus, watching as their real enemy was revealed.

He wasn't a younger man – he was at least as old as he had pretended to be, if not more. But now his skin was as chalk white as the corpses scattered across the ground; he still leaned heavily on a cane, but what he had in his hand was clearly a magic staff of some sort. He wore heavy black robes, and maybe he just couldn't see from this distant angle, but Claude didn't think he wore any emblems or anything of the sort. Just a strange symbol he hadn't seen before.

Atra laughed, but it was a harsh and bitter sound. “Savior? You're _still_ saying that _shit?_” Fucking hell that was bitter. That screamed history, and not a good one. “You're nothing but another murderer, Solon; that's all you've ever been!”

“Be silent!” Solon snarled, storming forward a few steps so he could see his opponents better; his guard moved with him. “You...you're the one who was interfering with my experiment. How could you have counteracted my spells? No beast could have done that; not without help...”

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

“Who are you?!” Byleth interrupted, taking a threatening step toward the foot of the path up to the windmill. “Why did you do this?”

Solon snorted, turning his attention back to her. Claude could hear the smirk return to his voice as he sneered, “To the most noble of ends, Fell Star.” _What the hell is that supposed to mean? _“I was hiding away in Garreg Mach to get the blood of that little girl called Flayn. Did I see her green head bobbling around these parts? How kind of you to bring her close.” _This man was the one who-? Fuck! Well, Flayn was mostly moving people around with Rescue; she should have a guard, Deer or Lion... _“With her blood, we are one step closer to our goal!”

There was another flash of pink light, to the far right of the village. Bernadetta let out a frightened scream as the Death Knight emerged from the familiar light, leering at them astride his feral-looking horse. “**I'll have a little fun too,**” The man rumbled over the fire; Claude cursed as a number of knights appeared on the hill behind him as well. Not too many – it wasn't a proper battalion or anything – but they were tired, battered and the Death Knight could draw against Byleth. If he got into the village proper, he would kill someone...

Claude glanced back at Byleth, grimacing as he drew up a plan that was guaranteed to make her furious with him if it worked and kill him if it didn't. _Story of my life. _“Felix, Bern, go and help Byleth.” A flash of gold caught the corner of his eye; Dimitri was back in the fight, knocking down a maddened villager with a single backhand. “Lysithea, did you master-?”

“Of course I know how to cast Dark Spikes,” Lysithea snapped, caught somewhere between fear and anger as the Death Knight spurred his horse forward. “But I need a clean shot.”

“Right.” _Either way, this is going to hurt. _“Stay here and stay down for a second – I'm going to try and give you one.”

“What-?!”

Distantly Claude thought he might have heard Dimitri shout his name too, but he couldn't be sure. As Byleth, Atra, Felix and Bernadetta began to fight off Solon's honor guard, he vaulted over the cover he'd been crouching behind and landed hard on the ground. Straightening up, forcing himself to stand light on his feet with an arrow in one hand, Claude stood directly in the path of the Death Knight as the man hurtled towards him.

He dodged being trampled – narrowly, it must be said, that stallion was damned fast on uneven ground – and shot at the Death Knight's armored back. It didn't pierce his armor, but it wasn't meant to. Sure enough, laughter rang from within the knight's helmet as he turned around to face Claude as he climbed up onto a broken chunk of the wall. He drew another arrow from his rapidly dwindling quiver; he'd lost his ax some time ago. The horse was heavily armored – unlike many, and amazingly its speed hadn't suffered too much for it.

“**You are not the one I crave,**” The Death Knight rumbled.

“Yeah?” Claude scoffed and then chuckled. “Unfortunately, Byleth has more important things to deal with right now.”

He was fairly certain he saw the Death Knight's eyes narrow before suddenly he was being rushed.

He ducked under the first slash of the scythe – he felt the magic burning the air right above his head, threatening to sear him – and then threw himself forward into the man's side, channeling his Crest power into his feet to give him a boost.

Pain burst in his rib-cage even before he hit the ground, but it worked – he managed to force the Death Knight off his horse. They both crashed to the ground; now pain exploded between his eyes as his forehead hit the spikes in his armor, slicing the skin and causing his vision to blur. The Death Knight recovered fast, throwing him off and cracking the hilt of his scythe into Claude's shoulder. _Not my dominant arm, though, _Claude thought over the rush of nausea. He let out a strangled noise as cold armored hand latched onto his throat; it took all his willpower to go limp, to not fight against it as his feral enemy lifted him one-handed up to eye level.

“**Fool,” **The Death Knight growled, his voice vibrating through his helmet.

Claude smirked.

Then he rammed the arrow he'd held loosely in one hand right through the holes in the visor – straight into one of the man's eyes.

He only got about two seconds to appreciate the unholy screech of pain the feral knight before he was dropped to the ground. The impact made his vision blur and go gray as pain wracked his whole body. “You will regret this!” Lysithea's distorted, distant voice seemed to come from everywhere around him. He shut his eyes as a flare of purple-black light flew over his head; the ground beneath him shook, a horse screamed and then thudded to the ground, and the grating of broken armor. Then there was a blast of energy near him, then nothing.

His head was spinning badly. Trying to sit up proved to be a very bad idea; pain from his side, back and throat seared his mind so badly that he couldn't resist his gag reflex this time. He barely managed to turn his head to the side before throwing up; some still slid back down his throat, causing him to hack and cough as he fought to clear his throat. Unable to sit up, he tried to figure out how badly he was hurt. _Ribs cracked or broken...breathing hurts, throat's probably bruised...shoulder's out of joint...forehead wound is still bleeding... yup, not good._

“-aude...! Claude...!”

He coughed again, trying to clear his throat. Moments later he was wrapped in a deep, warm blanket of magic; relief flooded him as the pain began dimming. He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes of the blood that had dripped into it; hands wrapped around his shoulders and lifted him up slowly. As his vision grew a bit clearer, he saw the glowing symbol of Cethleann right above him; the pain was virtually gone as he focused enough to make it out, and even the stiffness quickly followed it.

Lysithea was kneeling next to him, eyes wide with worry and slapping his back to help him clear his throat. Flayn stood in front, gasping and clapping with relief. The arms around him were stained with blood; Claude rubbed at his face before glancing over his shoulder to see Dimitri – frightened and angry in equal measure – staring at him.

“You call that a distraction?!” Lysithea shrieked. Claude looked around for a moment and realized that the Death Knight was gone. Gone and not dead, given how there was no body left behind. _Well, better than nothing. _

“It worked,” He pointed out, “so yes?”

Lysithea's eyes widened and asked in a strained voice, “Flayn, can I punch him?”

“He should be fine,” Flayn said in confusion; she let out an adorably startled yelp when Lysithea immediately responded by punching Claude in the shoulder with all the strength she could muster. Which wasn't much, but still-!

“Ow!” He protested.

“You moron!” Lysithea raged. The fact that Dimitri hadn't even tried to stop her suggested he actually agreed with her! “I thought you were going to _die _for a second there! Don't take the power Sothis gave the Professor as an excuse to act an idiot on the battlefield! You're not allowed to scare us like that, do you hear me?!”

“Oh my,” Flayn managed, blinking in shock.

“Sorry?” Claude offered.

He yelped when Dimitri yanked him to his feet and spun him around to face him. The prince tightly gripped his shoulders, his piercing gaze searching him from head to toe; those blue eyes were so stormy Claude couldn't be certain what he was thinking except maybe Dimitri was reassuring himself that he truly was alright. Wordlessly, the prince gently stroked his dirty hair away from his face, cleaning vomit with his bloody thumb. “I thought you _were _dead for a moment,” Dimitri said in a quiet rasp. He looked pale and shaken.

Claude's lips parted for a moment, shaken and unsure how to react to this, when he saw something over his shoulder – one final maddened villager, armed with a bow. “Mitya, behind us,” he warned. He'd dropped his own bow on the way down, he couldn't-.

Dimitri stiffened; in a split second, he let go of his friend and spun around. His posture shifted back into that – that almost animalistic gait Claude had seen at the village entrance right before he hurtled forward. The brunette instinctively put himself between Lysithea and Flayn – but the gesture proved unnecessary. The prince shot forward like an arrow, dodging a shot until he grabbed the villager's head in one hand. Lifting him like he weighed no more than a brick, Dimitri then violently slammed him into a cover wall. Claude flinched at the cracking sound caused by the villager's neck snapped and was mortified when Dimitri – either ignoring it or not noticing – slammed the body against the wall three more times before dropping him.

“Dimitri...!” He said, his voice coming out slightly strangled despite the fact his throat was no longer bruised.

The prince started. After a moment he glanced over his shoulder, hazy eyes slowly focusing on him as though he had forgotten the other students were there. “I...” He started hesitantly, eyes flickering down at his bloody hands.

Claude stared back at him, vaguely aware of Lysithea putting a hand on his arm and saying something in a concerned tone. He couldn't quite hear it over the roaring in his ears; his hands felt cold with shock. The offhanded manner in which his gentle, sweet friend had just strangled and bludgeoned a man to death without even breaking stride.

Dimitri's eyes seemed to clear as Claude stared blankly at him; shame and mortification mingled in his expression, and the prince looked away moments later back toward the battlefield.

Giving himself a shake, Claude did the same, looking up toward the windmill. The honor guard was effectively gone; only two mages remained, both of him were being charged by Byleth and the mysterious Atra. Solon had backed up a bit with his wand raised; Claude highly doubted that he was helpless despite his previous persona. Looking around, he quickly found and picked up his bow so he could hurry to join them.

As he made his way back to the center of the village, another figure in black came to join them. Claude nearly took a shot at him until he saw a flash of blue hair. _Felix must have picked up a coat...wonder why. _Dismissing the question for now, Claude looked for Teach again.

The blade of the Sword of the Creator blazed against the evening sky as Byleth swung it at Solon. The hunchbacked mage raised his staff; the relic sword crashed into what looked like a magical wall. Sparks of multiple colors flew as the blade began to dig into the shield, causing cracks to form across it. Moments later, the blade crashed through – much to Solon's shock, judging by the way he jerked backwards – and clipped the old man's face, causing a nasty cut but otherwise leaving him alive. He wasn't really looking at Byleth, though. His eyes were set on Atra, who was approaching him with both swords partly raised.

“You...” Solon growled, backing away from Byleth. “Now I know you...now I see you. You're a traitor to our glorious cause.”

Atra let out a short, barking laugh. “You're god-damned right I am.” She said calmly.

Solon raised a hand to throw a spell at her. Atra dodged the blast of dark magic – Death, unless Claude was mistaken – but before either girl could try to take advantage of this, the man disappeared in a flash of magic not unlike the Death Knight's teleportation. And with that, the battle came to a stop.

* * *

Claude let out a shaky breath, looking around. Dimitri, Lysithea and Flayn had come to join him; further back he could see Ashe, Annette and Mercedes looking back and forth. Mercedes pointed into a house that had largely burned out, and the other two quickly made their way inside. Lorenz was lifting a swaying figure onto the back of his horse while Ignatz darted back and forth, making sure that whoever it was didn't fall off. Raphael was cradling a small, limp body while Marianne leaned against his shoulder, shaking with grief. Jeralt was making his way toward them and Byleth, pausing only to give a quick word and a hand on the shoulder to Sylvain, who was holding the reigns of his horse which bore to bandaged villagers. A soot-covered Balthus took those reigns and patted Sylvain on the back, saying something hopefully encouraging. Hilda was helping Yuri carry someone; dead or alive, he couldn't tell from here while Hapi and Constance focused on putting out the remaining fires.

The village was in ruins. Houses were partway demolished or burned to the ground; fields were ruined, and everything smelled of ash and burnt corpses. Taking a deep breath and almost immediately regretting it (you never, ever got used to the smell of corpses), Claude began making his way toward Byleth and their mysterious helper. Felix seemed to be of a similar mind, trotting to the foot of the stairs as the two girls made their way down.

“Are you alright?” The blue-haired boy asked lowly. Claude blinked. _Wait, that's not Felix's voice. _

“I'm fine,” Atra said. All that fierceness that had been in her voice had drained away. “But he escaped. I should have expected he would know Rewarp.” She stabbed one of her swords into the earth and rubbed her face. “Stupid of me to think only Myson and Odesse made use of that.”

“Who?” Byleth asked quietly, watching the two with unreadable eyes.

Before either stranger could answer, a bang startled Claude. He, along with Atra and the Felix lookalike, turned around to see Felix had dropped his sword on the stony ground. He stared in utter disbelief at the young man in front of him, hands slowly starting to shake. Bernadetta was looking back and forth between him and his lookalike, bow hanging by her side, her eyes growing wider by the second.

“Impossible,” Felix said rigidly, taking a step backwards. “Impossible. It – it can't be.”

The blue-haired young man flinched. Dimitri took a shaky breath and stepped forward; Claude opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but was interrupted – again – by Ingrid's pegasus dropping down to the ground several yards away. The blonde dropped to the ground and ran over, shouting over her shoulder for Sylvain as she made her way to Felix's side. Her eyes were round and full of tears; she came to a stop a few feet away from the stranger. He seemed to shrink away from her, dark blue eyes darting away from her; his whole body radiated uncertainty.

“Glenn,” Ingrid whispered, reaching out one hand to him. Felix let out a strangled noise in his throat; the blue-haired swordsman said nothing. “Glenn, it's me. It's Ingrid. Don't you recognize me...?” Her fingers brushed against his cheek.

“I...” The swordsman (_Glenn? As in, Felix's dead brother Glenn? The one who died in Duscur?_) managed, staring back at her. “That is...yes. That's my name.”

He looked like he was about to say something else, but Felix let out another noise deep in his throat. It wasn't a growl or snarl or anything Claude associated with the grumpy Blue Lion student. It was soft, keening and – weak. The swordsman -Glenn- started at this, turning toward him.

“You...you...” Felix stared at him; oh, he was _definitely _trembling all over. Bernadetta hesitantly reached over and touched his wrist. Claude glanced at Glenn, taking note of the clear similarities between the shape of their cheeks and the color of their eyes; the spiky blue hair was identical as was the shape of their shoulders. _Either you're a _very _convincing doppleganger, or... _“Show me.”

“What?” Glenn(?) asked quietly. It wasn't aggressive or defensive...just hesitant. Ingrid stepped aside, looking back at Felix in concern. Sylvain had run up behind them and skidded to a halt behind his friend, staring open-mouthed at the dark-cloaked figure.

Atra, meanwhile, was completely quiet; staying out of the scene and watching it with...was that hope? Byleth's eyes widened; Claude was pretty sure that she was standing on her toes (_as if she needed to do that in order to tower over them_).

“My brother had the minor Crest of Fraldarius.” Felix responded tightly. The hand that Bernadetta was touching steadied, but the rest of him was trembling so badly Claude was honestly surprised that he was standing still. “If you're really him, _show me._” The words came out as a snap, somewhere between accusatory and desperate pleading.

Instead of balking, Glenn(?)'s eyes widened. With no hesitation, he raised his hand palm up and let out a long breath. Pale blue light flashed in the air and slowly formed the elegant symbol of the famed northern crest, lingering for several long seconds before he dismissed it.

Felix made that keening sound again. Dimitri let out a choked sound from his throat, while Ingrid's eyes filled with tears and Sylvain whispered “no way, no way-”. “You bastard,” Felix choked out, a tear falling from his eye. “You bastard, where have you _been_-”

He pulled free of Bernadetta's hand and launched himself at Glenn. The latter dropped his sword and braced himself as Felix slammed into his chest, grabbing his shoulders with both hands. “You vanished, you were _gone – _your helmet came back, your _sword _came back – four years, four goddess-damned years, _why?_” Even as he cursed, his grip on his older brother tightened, and he buried his head in the taller boy's shoulder.

Ingrid didn't wait for permission; she ran forward and threw herself at Glenn as well, wrapping her arms around both him and Felix. Sylvain was moments behind her, while Dimitri hesitantly trotted forward, tears trickling down his cheeks; he looked torn between joining the hug and keeping his distance. Flayn let out a happy gasp and clapped enthusiastically, babbling about the mercy of the goddess. (_Claude wondered exactly what Sothis was saying to Byleth right now, if anything._) Lysithea was watching the scene with an awed smile, while Jeralt stood patiently aside even as he stared intently at Atra – clearly wanting to talk to her but unwilling to interrupt.

Claude, meanwhile, was keeping an eye on Glenn's expression. The lost Fraldarius brother didn't quite look overjoyed at the belated reunion with his loved ones. In fact...he looked about as shaken as Dimitri; he hesitantly rested his hands on the small of Felix's back, returning the hug earnestly but quiet and slightly restrained. He was uncertain, nervous. Why would he feel that way, unless-

-wait. He'd looked Felix dead in the eye for a couple of seconds without instantly recognizing his little brother. That was _not _a good sign. And a close look at his face showed a nasty burn scar over his eye and the bridge of his nose. Considering that Dimitri – and all of Faerghus – believed quite confidently that he was dead... _You didn't get out of Duscur unscathed, did you? _

“Where were you?” Felix demanded in a voice that was shaking with an effort to keep it steady. “W-Why didn't you come home?!”

“...I didn't remember where home is.” Glenn responded in that same raspy tone. Claude winced, because he'd heard that before a number of times. Fires were a frequent mainstay on the battlefield. While his father and Nader knew how to avoid them or keep them at bay, he knew a number of warriors who's throats had been damaged or outright ruined by smoke inhalation. “I couldn't remember the faces of my family. I couldn't remember much other than my name and parts of what happened that night.”

Felix stiffened at the words. Ingrid, meanwhile, let out a soft sob – she already knew or at least suspected. Dimitri shivered; Claude couldn't and didn't resist the urge to curl his fingers around the blonde's wrist.

Glenn slowly took a step back, though he didn't let go of Felix nor push his hands away. “I should have died,” he said quietly. “With how much I bled, how – how many scars I had, I would have died.” He shook his head. “Atra did what she could. It kept me alive-”

Atra blinked at that. She glanced over at Dimitri, then at her feet. Then she started to say something, but Glenn cut her off and gave her a meaningful look that Claude couldn't quite interpret. For a moment it looked like Atra wanted to protest, but whatever she saw in his eyes convinced her. “-but I wasn't...” Glenn shook his head a little helplessly, then broke down into a coughing fit. Dimitri reflexively reached for him, but the blue-haired boy shook his head. “I clung to life by a thread for a long while, barely able to breathe. And – when I woke up, it was like all my memories had been thrown into the ocean. I keep clawing at, reaching into the black depths – trying to pull up something, anything...”

“Falrie has told me before that incredible pain can cause memories to become blurred.” Jeralt said eventually, breaking the painful silence that fell in the face of this. “Manuela would know better than any of us if she had a look at you, though.”

“Truly?” Glenn rasped uncertainly as Felix backed up a bit to stare into his eyes, as if searching for any sign of memory deep within those blue pools. Dimitri's eyes squeezed shut, and Claude could hear the recriminations running through the prince's mind through the rigidness in his arm. _He was protecting me, those wounds were taken in my place, it's my fault-_

“I think it's your best bet. Besides, news from the monastery travels fast; it'll be the easiest way to inform your father.”

“So-wait. You can't remember anything?” Sylvain cut in, aghast. “Nothing at all? _Everything's_ blank?”

Glenn looked pained. _His eyes are screaming it Syvain; 'don't ask, don't ask, you don't want to know-'_

Claude decided at that to throw both him and the shaking prince in his hand a bone. “Hey, guys?” The lions all turned to stare at him. “There might still be people trapped in buildings or under rubble. How about you go and look around while you talk; I hate to interupt, but we're still in the middle of something and the sooner we get the last loose ends taken care of...”

He let the sentence hang. Both Glenn and Dimitri, however, seemed to grasp the opportunity with both hands. Moments later the five of them set off together along with Bernadetta – headed for the nearest house.

Felix wouldn't let go of his brother's arm.

* * *

With that – well, certainly not _settled _but set aside for now – Jeralt then turned his attention to Atra. “Miria said a girl named Atra gave her something that counteracted the pain she was feeling from her illness,” He said gruffly. “How the hell did a young thing like you come across something like that, and what the hell happened between then and now?”

Atra's eyes grew a bit cloudy. She turned the fascinating burning blade over in her hand, dispersing the flames, before sheathing it on her left. “Solon called you a traitor,” Byleth recalled, finally adding her voice to the meeting. “Why's that?”

The mysterious burned girl sighed intensely. “Because I left,” she said quietly. “I abandoned him, his master and their megalomania. I fled their evil when I finally realized how soulless they really were. Not as soon as I should have.” Her eyes flashed, _empty and broken and grieving and dark dark dark _“When I realized they were planning something here, I had to intervene. I had to -” She stopped for a moment. “I had to try to stop them.”

“Who is he, and what the hell does he want? Why this village?” Jeralt demanded.

Atra closed her eyes. “He didn't need a reason to choose this village,” She said quietly. “He doesn't care who he preforms his 'experiments' on. He's an old man with an old grudge who lives in the dark with those he and his fellows have ruled over for ages.”

“And the Death Knight? He works for Solon too? He was the one who kidnapped Flayn some time back,” Claude said, in an effort to make himself useful in the conversation.

The question made Atra snort and shake her head. “No. That broken man is on loan.”

“So...he just poisoned everyone here for no reason?” Byleth asked. Her voice was soft and fragile. She looked fragile in that moment; her eyes panned over the destroyed village, lingering where ever bodies lay. Muted grief – so much like when she was cradling the Chalice in the aftermath of their fight with the beast – was so tangible in her eyes Claude wondered if he should touch her arm, hug her, do anything to try and support her. Lysithea made that choice for him, at least – she slipped forward and pressed against Byleth's side, lacing her fingers through her teacher's. “Just...because he could?”

“I'm sorry.” Atra responded quietly. She met Byleth's eyes steadily. “Solon doesn't see any worth in anyone but those who serve him. He wanted to test a weapon of his, I imagine. I hoped that I could counter it quietly, convince him that it was inert – but I was discovered. I'm sorry.”

Jeralt looked at her for a moment, his expression dark and deep in thought. Before he could really respond to that however-

“**_There you are._**”

Claude had almost forgotten the warped, distorted voice they had heard those weeks ago when they rescued Flayn. When it sounded behind him, he spun around instinctively going for his quiver; it was empty, however, and the others joined him in staring at their uninvited guest.

The Flame Emperor looked precisely as he remembered him from the underground – same armor, same ax, same icy demeanor in spite of the carnage surrounding him. The figure stood stolidly in place as Atra went rigid and both Jeralt and Byleth took up defensive positions, one hand on their weapons.

“Oh look,” Atra said serenely, her lip curving. “It's Thales's favorite pet. You're late to the atrocity.”

“**_Do not call me that,_**” The Flame Emperor snapped. Anger leaked through that synthesized voice; _how's he doing that? Magic? _“**_If you think I approve of this massacre you're sorely mistaken.” _**

“You don't hate it enough not to profit off of it.” Atra retorted with a sibilant hiss. The sheer amount of _hatred _bubbling beneath her voice was...kind of awe-inspiring. “Spare us the moralizing; only an idiot would believe you.”

“So you're the Flame Emperor,” Jeralt growled before the armored figure could retort.

“_**Indeed I am. I believe you've met my subordinate, the Death Knight.**_”

“We had a pretty bad first impression,” Claude said, before smirking and adding, “I might have broken him a bit...pity my arrow didn't dig all the way through his eye-socket into his brain, but you live and learn, right?”

He was pretty sure the Emperor was glaring at him beneath the mask. Good. “_**You were merely lucky that your friend was there to save your life.**_”

“I ought to get you too,” Lysithea bit out; the shorter girl was all but vibrating, Byleth holding her back with an arm around her shoulder. “To cause something like this... Look around you! Look at the bodies! You did this! You and your mad dog and your allies!”

“_**Do not get the wrong idea.**_” Claude frowned slightly. That tone was almost placating, not as defensive as he expected. “_**It's true that I am working with Solon. But our objectives are not the same.**_”

“Seriously?” Claude said after a moment of silence. Incredulity washed over him. “That barely qualifies as hair splitting. If you're helping him, how are you _not _adjacent to what he decides to do?”

“_**It's a necessary evil, one that I have my reservations about.**_” The figure responded.

Claude mind's eye flashed to the dead bodies of a few children that he'd had to step over and barely kept a cold smirk over the outrage that boiled up in his chest. “We're supposed to believe something good could come out of this?” He bit out sarcastically, gesturing behind him to the bodies scattered across the ground.

“_**Freedom is worth it. As is the truth.” **_The Flame Emperor gave him a pointed look. _**“Loathsome as they are, Solon and his like are the only ones who know the truth that has been buried by the church. I intend to bring it into the light.”**_

The Flame Emperor pointedly ignored the strangled laughter from Atra, keeping his eyes on Claude. The brunette's eyes darted momentarily over the mysterious girl; she was doubled over, trying to smother a harsh fit of very dry, very humorless laughter. “The truth?” He repeated skeptically.

“_**Why do you think Solon payed so much attention to you, Riegan?**_” The Flame Emperor asked. “_**Why was he slipping you books that the church disapproved of, considering who you now know that he is? He was trying to feel you out, and I finally think I understand why.**_” He tilted his head a bit. “_**You want to change the world, as I do.**_”

Claude snorted to cover up his uncertainty. “Well, I would have had to disappoint him...there's a difference between wanting to changing things and being willing to murder children.” Those bodies were going to haunt his nightmares.

“_**I don't think you're a quite a fool. Do you really, truly believe you would be able to change the world without it bleeding first?**_” The figure then turned toward Byleth. “_**You are unique figures, for the power you possess now and will possess in the future. With your help, I could crush Solon, his people and the chains holding humanity down at once. Join me.**_”

Atra straightened up, chuckling mirthlessly. “I don't know if you're so arrogant you think that once you get what you want, you can just dispose of them like throwing out a jug of bad wine...or your so mind-bendingly _stupid _you think that you can make them your hatchetmen and there won't be any _consequences. _But then again, I don't really know what to expect from someone who willingly throws his own people into Solon's torture chambers to get what he wants.”

“_**I refused to be lectured by one of **_**them****_,” _**The Flame Emperor spat.

“And yet you're the one preforming like a trained dog for them.” Atra fired back. “Giving them everything they want, while I betrayed and left them.”

“Forget it.” Byleth's voice was flat. Claude shivered instinctively. He hadn't heard her speak so emotionlessly since he first met her. “I can't forgive you for helping Solon for anything. Not after this. Not unless you walk away from him for good.” She drew the Sword of the Creator and calmly pointed it directly at the Flame Emperor's mask. “If you continue to work side by side with him, after seeing everything he did here, you are my enemy, and_ I will end you_.”

When she said it, it didn't sound like a threat. It sounded like a fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone, say hi to Atra - the missing Agarthan recruitable character. I've been a little excited to introduce her properly. 
> 
> Claude finally saw Dimitri's darker side, and continues to show obliviousness to his classmate's concern for him. I saw a picture once where a character is ranting at an animal friend about getting lost and being dumb while said animal friend thinks 'she loves me!' Claude is the animal friend, only he hasn't quite made the connection between his friends getting mad and his friends being worried. 
> 
> I really think the game fell down at the comparative lack of interaction between Claude and Flame Emperor/Edelgard. They could have left the gamers in serious doubt on if Claude was the FE by playing up his desire for change, his sneakiness, and his contrary beliefs compared to Dimitri. They could have done much more with his status as a foil to Edelgard, especially on the Verdent Wind Route. I intend to rectify that a bit here.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth has a number of important conversations and learns about an enemy.

_What should I say, Sothis? _

The goddess let out a long sigh. _Right now? I think there's not much you can say. The reality of this situation being what it is...your steady presence may be the most comfort you can provide at the moment. _

_Isn't that the same as doing nothing, though? _Byleth protested halfheartedly, taking care to stand still despite their conversation. Felix was doing enough pacing for the six of them; he stormed from one end of the hall before the medical wing's doors to the other without pause, ignoring Ingrid's occasional pleas for him to stop. Ingrid was leaning against the wall directly in front of the door, fiddling with a golden diamond-studded ring she'd produced from somewhere...hindsight suggested that she'd been wearing it under her shirt all along. Sylvain facilitated between joining Felix in his pacing, to trying to pull Dimitri's attention through jokes before tapering off and sitting in uncertain silence. Bernadetta was hovering at the edge of the group, watching Felix with worried eyes even as she fiddled nervously with her sleeves. Byleth was considering sending her shy student off to fetch snacks; the purple-haired archer was clearly worried about Felix (_I'm surprised by them...I would have thought that he would have scared her off...) _but the atmosphere was increasingly wearing on her nerves.

It was Dimitri that she was worried about the most, slightly edging out Felix – who at least seemed to have pulled himself together to an extent. Her friend was sitting on a chair with his head in his hands, occasionally shivering and seeming a couple of times to be on the verge of tears; he wasn't reacting to Sylvain's attempts to engage him in conversation. It was as if, despite the fact that he was sitting right there with them, he was thousands of miles away.

Byleth was sitting at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder, feeling utterly useless; for the first time she cursed her lacking intuition about emotions. Dimitri was in agony, and she didn't know how to help him.

_You aren't doing nothing, _Sothis said quietly. _Simply sitting at his side like this reminds him that he isn't alone. Unless he begins to speak himself, his mind is closed to attempts at comfort._

_I knew it...he's blaming himself... _Byleth tightened her grip slightly on Dimitri's wrist. She felt him twitch, and he raised his head a bit to look at her in turn. His eyes were hazy. _Dimitri...how much have you **buried **ever since that day in Duscur? How much have you buried so deeply that it explodes out of you like it did in Remire?_

Her eyes dropped down to his hands. His fingers were pale and smooth. There was no sign of the gore that had dripped off his fingers, the bone chips embedded into his palms, the blood staining his skin so thickly you couldn't see his veins.

If she closed her eyes and let her mind wander just a bit, she could see him smash Gina's head into a wall without blinking or even pausing for breath. She'd been so maddened she didn't recognize her or Jeralt, but the gentle prince she'd grown to care about hadn't restrained her – he simply bashed her to death in a brutal sudden moment. Byleth still remembered that feverish moments of Gina taking her from her father's arms and carrying her up to an empty in room, telling her father to go and fetch help. _Maybe they can't be helped...but...but...!_

Tentatively, she raised her hand and gently stroked the top of Dimitri's head; trying to mimic the comforting gesture Sothis had used on her before. His eyes widened at the gesture; a moment later, a raw flash of shame flickered through his eyes and he dropped his gaze to his feet again. As if he knew what she was thinking about.

_What happened to you back there, Dimitri? It was as if you became a completely different person...! _Byleth continued to stroke his soft blonde locks, hoping her expression was soft and worried. _I couldn't really focus on it at the time, with the chaos all around us...but you were the one who told me 'no matter the reason, it is evil to kill...' with all earnestness. That was why I made you uncomfortable at first, wasn't it? I don't believe you were trying to fool me..._

She saw him slaughter his way through people she'd known with such bloody ferocity and yet...

Worry. The feeling coursed through her veins as she tried to comfort him as they waited for Manuela to allow them to visit Glenn, who she was examining. In spite of what she saw him do, she largely felt worry for him, wondering what caused this inexplicable change in her friend and why it happened.

It was enough to dominate her mind in spite of the other things to dwell on. They had brought together the villagers who had survived, carefully bound and tied up the maddened ones who had survived, and brought everyone back to the monastery with a warning letter addressed to both Lady Rhea and Manuela ahead. Once they reached the gate Atra had slipped away from the group as the Knights of Serios poured out of the town, murmuring 'come find me in Abyss' as she pulled up her hood and vanished into the crowd. (Yuri quickly promised to keep an eye on her.) The knights quickly helped them move all the injured and sick to the medical wing, moving Miria out when she protested and looked for her mother. (Erin wasn't one of the maddened, but she might still be sick, and Byleth was afraid of contact causing the little girl to relapse.) Glenn, meanwhile, was put up in Manuela's personal quarters after Seteth confirmed his identity via his Crest. In the whirlwind of the past few days Rhea had made a few things perfectly clear – the church would do everything in its power to heal the poisoned villagers of Remire, but the news of the village attack needed to be suppress less it trigger widespread panic, and those who had been maddened needed to be transferred to a smaller, more specialized branches of the Central Church for extensive treatment. They had left yesterday with an honor guard of knights, meaning Professor Manuela finally had a chance to properly examine a certain amnesiac swordsman.

_That boy Glenn was quite overwhelmed, _Sothis sighed. _I feel for him. Knowing that there is much you have forgotten is...vexing, at best. I suppose I should consider myself lucky I am not surrounded by loved ones visibly tormented by my condition. _

_Dimitri was so certain he was dead, _Byleth recalled grimly. _He hasn't spoken of that night, but from what little Ingrid has told me about Glenn...I'm willing to bet that Dimitri saw him take injury after injury protecting him, until he was sure..._

_Mmmm. _Sothis hummed in agreement, her frown deepening. _I wonder what truly happened that night...Atra has much to explain. Right now, it seems that she's the only one who knows the truth. _

Byleth nodded minutely, still tugging lightly on Dimitri's hair. She felt him shift under her hand; blinking, she noticed in relief that the prince was starting to sit up, softening his defeated posture. He still seemed reluctant to meet her eyes, but look at her he did. There was a remorseful apology in his eyes. “Talk to me,” she whispered softly, pitching her voice so none of the others would overhear. “Not here. But please talk to me, Mitya.”

“I..I will,” the prince promised, equally quiet and still broken. “You deserve an explanation. ...I'm sorry.”

“I just want to understand,” Byleth replied. She started to remove her hand-

-and was startled when Dimitri's slender fingers wrapped gently but firmly around her wrist, keeping her brushing against the side of his head. Rather than blush or stammer as he typically did when acting 'untoward' as he was typically want to, the prince regarded her shyly out of the corner of his eye and murmured, “I...please, don't stop. It's...comforting.”

“...I see,” She whispered back, soft warmth running beneath her skin. Lightly she tangled her fingers in his unruly hair and pushed it away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. “Alright then,” she did her best to smile at him. She wondered if it looked like Claude or Marianne's real smiles, beautiful and reassuring. It wasn't as though she had very much experience making the expression.

It did make Dimitri's expression brighten just a bit. She would consider that a victory.

That was when the door opened, cutting the moment short.

Manuela looked tired when all six students snapped to attention; and for once it had nothing to do with a hangover. The older woman had been working tirelessly on her new patients ever since they had arrived, with only Flayn and occasionally Mercedes offering any significant assistance. It showed on her face, which was pale and drawn; yet nevertheless she maintained a healer's temperament, regarding them with gentle calm.

“How is he?” Dimitri asked tremulously. Byleth's hand slid down his shoulder and grasped his hand lightly in support. Bernadetta looked like she might want to do the same for Felix, but the latter was too wired to accept any contact.

“Physically, he's in remarkably good shape considering what I extrapolated from some of his scars.” Manuela let out a breath. “As for mentally...well, the brain is delicate. Fortunately from what I've discerned, he isn't brain damaged at all, but that likely means he has traumatic amnesia. I'm sorry, but while there is a chance he may trigger memories from before that night, it also entirely possible that he could go for years – if not his whole life – without truly recovering everything.”

“But he might remember something,” Ingrid said a little desperately. “It's possible?”

Manuela grimaced slightly before quickly making her expression neutral again. “There is precedent for it...but again, I cannot guarantee anything. With that in mind, I'm telling you now – be patient with him. Try not to badger him about trying to remember – trying and failing to recall his previous life will be very distressing for him.”

Felix didn't say anything; didn't even acknowledge Bernadetta's hesitant hand on his wrist. His eyes were stormy; there was frustration there, anger, but it was swimming in a sea of regret, confusion and grief. Byleth suspected that the blue-haired boy had no idea how to feel. Or maybe he was just feeling everything at once. He spent four years believing Glenn was dead, all while his amnesiac brother wandered the face of Fodlan with only an enigmatic deserter for company...

“Can we see him?” Dimitri asked pleadingly. His voice cracked a bit mid sentence.

Manuela's eyes softened a bit. “One at a time, yes. He's a little overwhelmed right now...but he does want to see you.”

Dimitri took half a step forward, hesitated, and then looked over at Felix – silently urging him to go first, despite his own desperation to speak to Glenn. The latter's frown softened just a bit before he pulled the door open and hurried inside.

Byleth knew it wasn't very polite, but she couldn't help herself; she took a few steps forward – not letting go of Dimitri's hand – and leaned against the frame of the door, mostly concealing herself from view while still being able to see into the room.

Glenn was sitting on the edge of his medical bed, staring out the window. He'd been given a standard Blue Lions uniform in place of his dirty travel outfit, the short sleeves revealing a number of scars on both his arms. His hair had been brushed and cleaned; it was longer than Felix's, but just as spiky and unmanageable-looking. He sat somewhat stiffly, uncertainty radiating off his posture.

Felix stopped a few feet away from his bed. Glenn turned in his direction but didn't get up; from her vantage point, Byleth could see a thoughtful look on his face.

“I have two brothers.” Glenn murmured with absolute certainty.

“What?” Felix said, voice rough.

“When I woke up, nothing made sense. That night came back in flashes, but all I could really remember is that I was protecting someone. I paid for that with a lot of pain.” He said it in a matter-of-fact manner. Byleth still felt Dimitri flinch. “Even when I couldn't see his face, I knew one of you was there. ...Felix. Were you...?” Glenn trailed off hesitantly.

“No. I hadn't been knighted yet. I was left behind with the old ma – with our father. He'd been left to manage the capital in the king's absence.” Felix was standing ramrod straight. “You remember calling the b – Dimitri that? 'Little brother?' You always said it as a joke.”

“I did?” Glenn blinked a few times. “I didn't think it a joke then.” The 'then' went unspoken. It didn't need to be explained.

“...You remembered my name.” Felix's voice was about as tight as his shoulders. “You didn't at first.”

“...After you hugged me...I knew who you had to be. Knowing that jarred – something, I guess. Everything's still a damned murky swamp, but I never forgot that I had a family.” Glenn stood up, rubbing his shoulder. “...I'm sorry.”

Felix's fingers dug into his hands. He was shaking again; it was as if he couldn't decide if he wanted to strangle his emotional reaction or embrace it. “Sorry? Sorry for what, that you didn't die heroically?” _Was that a demand or a question?_

Glenn gave him a bemused look. “No, for vanishing for four years when I couldn't find my way home.”

“Atra didn't help you?”

Glenn shook his head. “Atra barely knew anything about the surface world when she pulled me out of that burning field, much less Faerghus. She tried, but neither of us knew where to go or what to look for. I'm very sorry, Felix. If I'd known where home was, I would have gone straight there.” He shook his head and gave him a concerned frown. “Dimitri...I remember pushing him out of the field. I remember getting stabbed, surrounded...” He shook his head. “What happened to him? Is he alright?”

Byleth squeezed Dimitri's wrist. His whole body was wracked with a trembling sob.

“He's-” Felix stopped abruptly. Not trusting his own response. “He's right out in the hall. Do you want to see him?”

“Please.”

Byleth glanced at her friend. The blonde's eyes were glimmering with tears; she gently murmured “are you ready?”

“I...y-yes,” Dimitri said a little shakily. He hesitantly pulled free of her grip and walked into the hospital wing. Ingrid almost immediately took his place at her side. The blonde's shimmering eyes were fixed on the scene, ignoring Manuela's attempts to get her attention. She was still fiddling with the engagement ring around her neck. Sylvain was standing behind them. Byleth wasn't certain what he was feeling aside from worry; his expression had gone glassy.

Felix gave Dimitri an unreadable look as he approached for a moment before tearing his eyes away.

“Glenn...”

“Dimitri,” Glenn said quietly, as if testing out the name. “You're alright.”

“I...what-?”

The blue-haired young man gave the prince a tiny hint of a smile. It was sad, and tired – but it was warm, moreso than anything Byleth had seen from him so far. “I didn't know what happened to you for the longest time,” Glenn responded quietly. “You were with me there, weren't you? I remember pulling you along and sending you ahead... I hoped you were safe when I woke up, but I didn't _know_. It's good to see you...”

Byleth wasn't sure what she thought Dimitri wanted to say to Glenn...but apparently that well-intention remark – a sign that Glenn, who he thought had died protecting him, had been worrying about him in the midst of all his troubles – had been too much. Dimitri let out a wracking sob and seized Glenn in a hug. The way the swordsman flinched suggested there was a bit of the Blaiddyd strength in that embrace; Dimitri was crying with little restraint, either ignoring or not caring about Felix's presence right next to him. It was like he was expunging four years of grief and recrimination all at once. And just like last night, Glenn started at first, then hesitantly hugged him back.

_I shouldn't be watching this, _Byleth decided, something painful twisting in her chest as she turned away from the sight. _I'll find him later... _

_Perhaps you ought to find Ingrid first, _Sothis noted solemnly. _Glenn said that he remembered he had two brothers. Notice the lack of a mention of a fiance? _

Byleth swore, pausing mid step and giving a concerned look over her shoulder at Ingrid. The blonde didn't see it, but Sylvain did. The redhead nodded at her and placed a hand on his old friend's shoulder – signaling that she wouldn't be alone. She hoped she managed a small smile before turning and making her way toward the hall.

She hoped that her father or maybe Seteth would have some useful advice for her.

* * *

Yuri had shown her an entrance to Abyss hidden in the wall near her dorm room shortly after he joined her class. She'd been both surprised and touched by the gesture of trust at the time; now she was using it to chase down an errant figure she wanted (needed) some answers from. _I wonder why Atra wasn't willing to come into the monastery proper like the rest of us. She betrayed Solon and his group, we all saw as much; she wouldn't have been accused of anything. _

_She probably fears potential spies, _Sothis pointed out. _A perfectly reasonable concern, seeing how long Solon had been strolling through these halls undetected. Abyss offers more anonymity than she would have otherwise..._

_I suppose...but I wonder why she never said as much. _

_Alois was with you. He's a fair man, but she may not know that. _

_Fair enough._

The tunnels beneath the monastery were much less foreboding now, with her history within them. It didn't hurt that they were also better-lit now, and the people she occasionally ran into when looking for Yuri (_she didn't appreciate it when he randomly cut class without a note, thank you very much_) were quite friendly now. She was starting to recognize faces as well, if not the names to go with them. Now it felt like an extension of Garreg Mach.

Walking over the threshold where she had nearly died still made her wince a bit, though.

“Hey, you there. I've got something to report.” The guard at the entrance said, waving at her when she walked down the last few steps. “Atra's back, and she seems more pensive than usual. I didn't know that was possible. I thought she only had two emotions – angry and exhausted.”

“Is that right,” Byleth murmured.

“Oh and your friend Riegan showed up a few minutes ago.” The guard's brow furrowed. “He keeps staking out the library, reading for hours and hours in the _middle of the night_. What's up with that?”

She felt her lips quirk upward, affection sparking in her chest. “Don't mind him. He's just very curious.” She tipped him for his work and made her way down into the square, hearing a confused yelp ring out behind her.

The path to the library was a familiar one; the first time Claude failed to make it to class on time this month, she'd checked the room on a hunch and wasn't surprised to find her mischievous friend curled up on a couch with a half-open book on his lap. _At least he isn't likely to get caught by the clerical staff here, unlike when he kept falling asleep in the official library, _she thought with a mix of fondness and exasperation. Seeing as he'd proceeded to do the exact same thing multiple times in the following week, he clearly was of a similar mind.

She heard the low hum of conversation as she approached the surprisingly ornate double doors to the Abyss's library. One of the voices was unmistakably Claude; his tone was indistinct, but it sounded like he was asking questions. The other voice was a soft female one...Byleth was struck by a sudden stab of agitation at that. _Who is he talking to? _

Pushing her way through the doors, Byleth blinked to see Claude sitting at a desk overflowing with books and a lantern sitting slightly precariously on the wide banister. He was pointing at one of the pages, looking up at none other than Atra, who was leaning on both hands on the other side of said desk. Hair untied and falling around her face.

She had lovely hair. It was somewhat undercut by how terribly scarred she was, but Atra was pretty in a quiet, understated way if you could look past them.

_Why was that thought so irritating?! _

“...call it dragon's blood? Seriously, why?”

“I don't know,” Atra said, shaking her head. “That's what everyone I knew always called the Crest lineages. It's the same with Fell Star; Thales used that title and 'beast' interchangeably when referring to the one who destroyed the Agartha of old.”

“So Thales is the king of Shamballa?”

“...He calls himself the High Chancellor, but functionally his role is roughly equivalent.” Atra tilted her head to examine the page he'd turned to more closely while Byleth hesitantly made her way over. “He pays lip service to having a council, but everyone raised to the high positions is partnered to his vision for Agartha. He has no debates, only 'discussions'.”

“You sound like you'd rather use a different word than 'discussions',” Byleth observed, as much to announce her presence as to raise a question. Atra jolted a bit and straightened up in a hurry, eyes wide as they settled on her. Claude's reaction was more sedate, waving at her to come over. “I was worried that you might have slipped away in the confusion.”

“...I thought about it,” Atra acknowledged. She averted her eyes, looking just past her shoulder or over in a corner so she wasn't looking straight at Byleth. “But I've been running for four years now. And I know better than to think that I can fight them on my own.”

“Then you'll tell us who 'they' are?” Byleth asked. She took another step closer, stopping at the side of the desk; she could feel Sothis pressing gently against the back of her mind, listening attentively and vibrating with anticipation. “And what they want?”

“...” For a moment Atra didn't say anything. A heavy, dark look crossed her face. It intensely reminded her of the expression she saw on Marianne's face when the girl was lost in dark thoughts. “...Where is Prince Dimitri?”

_Huh? Why would...? _“With Glenn in the hospital, the last time I saw him.”

“...I see.” Atra turned fully toward her, straightening up. “I'll tell you everything I know...I'm afraid it won't be too much. I was a – a foot soldier, so to speak. A peasant levy. There is much that I wasn't privy to about their future plans; only what I've guessed or put together from what I learned growing up and...and what I saw as a soldier.” She hesitantly glanced at Claude, who was standing up. “Um...Riegan-”

“Hey, I don't mind hearing things twice. It makes me more likely to remember the details.” Claude gave her a half-smile before adding, “I'm just going to get Teach a chair.”

Byleth watched as Atra slowly slumped against the railing, energy draining out of her body. The short sleeves of her shirt revealed more intense tanning, burns, and scars running up her once pale skin. She mostly wore heavily concealing clothes...if that meant... “So...how did you end up with so many burns?” She asked hesitantly.

Atra tugged at her sleeves. “I lived my entire life until I was made a levy without ever seeing the light of day. As a consequence my skin burned very easily for the first two years. The rest of it were just consequences of the battles I've fought in...like you.”

“You never...saw the sun?” Byleth repeated, wondering if she'd actually heard that right. The mental image boggled her mind; it wasn't just her, either. She sensed Sothis recoil in shock at the casual admission. “Wait, how is that _possible_?”

“It will sound quite mad.” Atra warned her.

_I share my body with the goddess. You'll have to tell me something **very **ludicrous for me to reject it out of hand. _“Solon's appearance has opened my mind. I promise.”

That was when Claude reappeared with a chair under each arm; he put one down behind her and casually guided her down onto it. Byleth felt her cheeks turn flaming red for several moments, lingering even after his touch retreated. After giving Atra a seat he returned to the desk and sat down, half an eye on the book he'd been examining with her.

“I was born in Shamballa; the capital of Agartha, and the only one of its great cities to survive the Fell Star's assault.” Atra said quietly. Byleth stared blankly back. _I've never heard those names..._ “Agartha used to rule all of what is now Fodlan and the lands beyond it; far, far back in ancient times. Thales calls it the Golden Age of humanity.” She frowned. “Shamballa survived the destruction by activating its ultimate defense mechanism; it was brought deep, deep beneath the earth, buried beneath a million tons of rock and dirt. Even that nearly wasn't enough; the city was damaged in the retreat, and it took decades to be restored.”

“Shamballa is – deep beneath Fodlan?” Byleth wrestled with the thought for a few seconds. If not for Sothis, she almost certainly would have rolled her eyes at that. “How is that possible?”

“By old, venerable knowledge.” Atra said. “The same things that allow Thales and Solon to build the Titanus and carry out various – experiments.” Her lip curled at 'experiments'. “Either way...”

The black-haired girl grimaced. “I grew up in Shamballa. It was the only world I knew; it was comfortable, but confining. You're not allowed to go to the surface unless you're acting in service of the chancellor; there is a 'sun roof', so to speak, that children are allowed to play beneath on state holidays, but the light is very filtered and...there's no comparison to the real thing.” For a moment she looked nostalgic. “Every child made up stories about the surface; we tried to imagine what sunlight felt like on the skin, what it would be like to stand in the waves of the ocean and listen to the wind whistle through the treetops. We imagined it was a paradise.”

“I hope you haven't been too disappointed,” Claude joked lightly, having noticed how her knuckles were slowly going a bit white.

Atra started; when she recovered, she let out a small laugh, blinking in disbelief as if she couldn't believe it was her making that sound. Byleth was torn between being pleased and that aggravated feeling again. “Honestly...no, not really. It wasn't what I expected, but...”

Her eyes darkened again. “Well, Thales and the others painted a very particular picture of the world above Shamballa. Every tale about the surface began with how the Fell Star stole the world from humanity, turning those who served her into mindless puppets who lived only to serve her. He said that she tore out the part of their soul that allowed self-determination; so the surfacers mindlessly obeyed doctrine for centuries, never innovating, never creating anything, never-” She stopped for a second. “I didn't realize Fodlan was split up into three separate dominions until I came to the surface for the first time. All the stories only referred to one surface, one group of people so dependent on an inhuman figure they weren't 'really' human anymore.”

Claude's expression became thunderous; yet he didn't say anything. Somehow that was more unnerving than any rant he might have let loose, which would have been shocking in and of itself...

“Thales is very particular about how he wants all of us to think.” Atra tapped her fingers against the desk. She avoided Claude's gaze...whether our of shame or fear, Byleth wasn't certain. “His words were all I knew about the world. Listening to him give speeches from the heart of Shamballa was like listening to an all-knowing super-human; when he paid any attention to one person, it filled you with awe, glee and reverence. Even though no one could go up to the world and see for themselves if he was telling the truth, no one believed he was lying to us.”

“Everyone?” Byleth repeated skeptically. Even in the Kingdom, which was famous for the amount of love and loyalty the royal family commanded from their people, had many tales of betrayal and in-fighting. Unless Thales had cast a literal spell over everyone in Shamballa-

“You're encouraged to look out for traitors against Agartha.” Atra responded, toying gently with a page from her book. “Even children are spying on each other, listening for any sign that someone is working against the the men who swore that they would bring us back to the surface even if it cost them their lives. And why wouldn't we? What kind of selfish, evil-minded person would betray someone willing to sacrifice anything to set them free from an eternal imprisonment? Neighbors watch neighbors. The city guard monitor all movement between city blocks, no matter how trivial. You're never really alone. And if someone is speaking sedition and treason...”

“There's no trial. It's too dangerous to give such evil a chance to spread. You vanish out of your bed in the middle of the night, and no one ever sees you again.”

“...How do you know that, Atra?” Claude asked in an altogether too-calm voice.

“Because I saw them come for my mother when I was a child.” Atra locked her fingers together...trying to keep them from shaking. “I had a nightmare, so I went to her for comfort when when we heard the door open. Mother pushed me into the closet and pretended to be asleep...and five men burst in, threw a cloak over her head and shoulders and took her away.” She shook her head. “I don't know what she did. I was never told, even when I entered the military. I never heard any rumors or anything. It was like that cloak erased her from time itself.”

“But you still joined Thales's militia?” There was a faint note of incredulity in Byleth's voice as she asked. Her mind spun. “He ordered your mother's disappearance...” How could anyone willingly make that sort of decision without coercion?

“I decided she must have done something wrong, because why else would our savior take her away?” Atra snorted. “I blindly believed what I had been raised on. But now, given what I know...she was probably given to Solon.” She choked a bit at that, ducking her head as her shoulders shook violently for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” Byleth said, in absence of anything wiser to say.

“Solon is Thales's 'doctor'; if you can call the treatments he's perfected 'medicine'.” That _hate _from Remire had come back. The girl's nails dug into her skin. “You can hear screaming coming out of his 'medical wing' if you linger near in the late hours; I heard it the last time I dared go back into Shamballa on a fact-finding mission. He's always in the need of new 'test subjects'. He also perfected some manner of spell or conditioning that allows him to control Demonic Beasts the way one trains horses; why have attack dogs when you can have something bigger and more dangerous?”

“You've got to be kidding me...” Claude muttered, burying his face his hands for a moment. He snapped up after a second, a flash of alarm in his eyes. Byleth wondered what was worrying him when he said, “So Thales says he's going to bring you back to the surface. Why not just raise the city up?”

Atra smiled humorlessly at him in response. “Because the surface world was tainted by the evil Fell Star and become a haven for animals. It has to be purified before Agartha can take back its former glory.”

“The 'beasts' being us,” Claude grated. “Is that connected to why you called my Crest lineage 'dragon's blood'?”

“I think so...dragons are associated with divinity, yes? You mentioned The Immaculate One to me... Solon said that the Fell Star was an evil and selfish god who wanted to stifle humanity's inherent superiority, lest we surpass her. So by claiming that the divine blessing granted to your families was the mere consumption of 'defiled beast's blood', he dehumanized you further to the children raised in the darkness...”

That dark, Marianne-esque look grew even stronger. Byleth bit her lip, worried, and asked, “What prompted you to finally escape them?”

Atra shut her eyes. The _shame _and _horror _rolling off of her was sickening, a tangible weight in the air around them; tears burned at the corners of her eyes. “I was sent out on my first mission, an assassination against a surfacer who worshiped the Fell Star. It was a critical step toward reclaiming the surface; that's what I was told. I was a little uneasy; I'd never killed before, but it would get us closer to a better world, and if it was just some animal-like surfacer...I didn't realize how little I knew. I didn't know anything about anything.”

Her fingers locked together again. A tear dripped down her cheek, cold and solemn. Byleth suddenly remembered Glenn emphasizing that she had saved his life and the meaningful look she had given him then. She saw Claude's eyes widen moments before Atra spoke the words.

“When I arrived in Duscur, my job was to poison the wine barrels. So everyone who drank from it would be weak and ripe for the picking. Somehow, it didn't occur to stupid thirteen-year-old me that we didn't need to poison two dozen barrels to kill two people until it was too late.”

“The Tragedy of Duscur,” Claude breathed. “I knew it was a set up, but I couldn't find anyone with the means, the strength _and_ the motive to pull it off. It was Shamballa; destabilizing the kingdom in the name of 'taking back' Fodlan.”

“I was there during the celebration, watching all those people interact without fear or suspicion. I listened to them talking to each other, worried about simple things or reminiscing about previous adventures.”

Atra bowed her head. She was definitely crying now.

“I was there when the slaughter started.”

Byleth's stomach _dropped_. Suddenly she was cold all over.

Atra's posture hunched in on itself. She shuddered as she tried to speak in a level quiet voice. “I can still hear the screaming...sometimes when I'm awake I can see the fire and the corpses all over again before my eyes...” She swallowed hard. “When I was watching the killing unfold, I...I realized what we had done. What I had done.”

“...Is that when you saw Glenn?” Claude prodded carefully.

Atra nodded shakily. The tears wouldn't stop... “Yes. He was leading the prince out by the hand. ...He was the other official target, you know? Thales claimed we only needed to kill him and his father...but since they don't see the people of the surface as 'human' like us, they slaughtered their way through everyone there just to be sure the two were killed...and create a scapegoat.” She shook her head violently.

“Anyway...Glenn wasn't just leading Dimitri...he protected him from arrows and an Obsidian Knife with his own body...” Atra roughly dried some of her tears, in a futile attempt to stop them altogether. “I was...frozen. Just sitting there, watching, unable to do anything...pitiful, I know. But seeing him made me snap out of a bit..I could walk and use my sword...I followed him to the edge of the clearing, where he handed Dimitri off to that other knight and turned to hold the remainder of the men off...he killed so many of them and survived so much, but he was so weak then...he was definitely going to die, and they would keep chasing after Dimitri.”

“So you turned on them.” Byleth realized. Despite the enormity of what she had been involved in...she pitied the pathetic, sobbing girl in front of them. She was displaying horror and remorse... “You saved him and ensured that Dimitri escaped with his life.” Saying the words out loud helped clear the buzzing in her own head, refocus on everything she'd learned.

Atra nodded slowly. “It's not enough. It's not nearly enough, but I...” She choked, coughing and hitting her chest to dislodge the lump in her throat.

“That was four years ago,” Claude mused. He was unusually calm. There was a storm in his green eyes, but it didn't seem to touch his face. “You've been sabotaging _them _ever since, haven't you? Going on what little you knew, bouncing between sleeping in ditches and crawling around in the dark as you chased after whatever rumor tipped you off. Because you _couldn't _go straight to Firdihad and tell them the truth; after all, Thales and Solon couldn't have set up that ambush at Duscur without an ally in the heart of the Kingdom.”

_An ally within-? ...Shit! _It was obvious once Byleth thought about it for a few seconds. Shamballa supposedly had generations to scatter double-agents throughout Fodlan; kingdoms that were in disarray and panic were far easier to topple.

“...It's one of the previous King's royal court. I don't know who; I never saw their face. I was on guard duty when Solon visited them.” Atra rubbed at her eyes again. “I wasn't important enough to be a witness to a strategy meeting.”

“That still narrows it down a hell of a lot. I've been chasing shadows and theories up until now.” Claude leaned back in his seat, looking with that same calming expression. “...I can't say I'm surprised you ran from Dimitri in Abyss. In your shoes, maybe I would've too.”

Byleth wondered if he was being honest or just attempting to soothe Atra so she would tell them more. She was fairly certain in that such a position, Claude would own up to it – no matter the position he was in.

“I wanted to finish this before I gave myself up to him,” Atra whispered, wrapping her arms around her chest. “I wanted to make sure this could be brought to an end. That's all I...” She sighed. “I went to Firdihad in hopes of finding a relative of Glenn's so I could bring him home; at that time, he was in a coma. Though more pressing matters ultimately derailed my intent...”

“The framing of Duscur?”

“Yes.”

“...You tried to stop it, didn't you?”

“For what little that was worth. In the grand scheme of things, I only managed to rescue a handful of people from those flames.” The former Agarthan breathed out. “There's one entrance to Shamballa, but it's too dangerous to try and storm the city right now...raising an army would leave the capitals vulnerable to the moles...you have to find them first...”

“Mmm...I guess that makes you the newest member of Jeralt's Mercenaries.” Byleth decided. Atra started violently at this, tear-filled eyes widening. “I know it'll be better for you to stay out of sight, but father has a way of making us inconspicuous despite our reputation. If you talk to Yuri, you'll get a better idea of what's going on Fodlan wherever his people are lingering about.” She bit her lip hard. “Now I wonder how much of what's happened this year is part of Shamballa's grand design...Solon mentioned Flayn's blood, and it was when we were saving her that we met the Flame Emperor...”

Claude snorted. “Yeah, he's a character isn't he? What's his game, if he isn't Agarthan?”

Atra snorted bitterly. “Ask him yourself the next time you see him. He'll be happy to share his delusions of conquest with an audience.”

“I see. ...Thank you for telling us this, Atra. I hope that you'll continue to help us.” Byleth said quietly.

Atra gave her a strange look from beneath teary eyes. “...Why are you saying such things to me? Didn't you hear what I admitted to? I'm a monster. I don't deserve any kindness from you...”

“...There's no point in hating the sword instead of the man who swings it,” Byleth responded with firm certainty. Atra blinked at her, not understanding – but Claude nodded seriously. There was some worry in his eyes, however. Byleth suspected it was for the same reason as her.

* * *

_Sothis, are you okay? You've been so quiet..._

Byleth returned to the surface through the tunnel hear her room, Claude on her heels with the book he'd been reading safely tucked under one arm. He looked deep in thought; which certainly explained how unusually quiet _he _had been on the way back up. Atra was still in the library, waiting for Yuri to return. Hopefully the purple-haired teen would think of a way they could explain everything she'd told them to the rest of her students...

She wasn't used to her ever-snarky font of wisdom lacking an opinion on something.

_...The Fell Star... _Sothis's voice was quiet and troubled. _...I am greatly sympathizing with that boy Glenn right now, moreso than usual. Agartha...Shamballa...the words are needling the back of my mind...but every time I think I've grasped it, it slips away! _

_It makes sense that you of all people would have known about Agartha's existence at some point. The story Atra was told said that it existed a long time ago, _Byleth thought. Concern for the childish ghost bubbled up in her. _Maybe once we know more, you'll eventually remember something? _

_I certainly hope so! This is driving me to frustration...! _

“So...” Claude's voice startled her from her internal monologue. He had walked out in front of her, a deadly serious look in his eyes. “Part of me wants to tell Dimitri about this right away...but the other part of me is thinking that if I do, he'll go straight to Abyss and smash Atra's skull like an overripe melon.”

Byleth winced at how bluntly he said it...but she also knew he was right. “It will be better if we gently lead him into it, _eventually_.” She said firmly. “There's a traitor in the court he's set to inherit, and an unknown enemy in the dark. He _has _to stay focused on the present, or he might get-” she found that she couldn't finish the sentence. Her throat was too tight.

Claude shut his eyes and groaned. “He's going to be so _incredibly _pissed off if he finds out we're hiding this from him, even to keep him safe.” The brunette crossed his arms. “But you're right. Seeing Remire made him fly off the handle; I have no idea _what _he'll do if he learns about this right now...”

He trailed off and made an unhappy gesture, looking away to the ground beside him. “I don't want to lie to Mitya about this,” Claude said unhappily. “His father was murdered while he watched. He knew all the knights that died there, even if just in passing. He _deserves _to know, damn it.”

“You're right,” Byleth agreed. Her chest hurt. “We'll tell him in time. We need to know what caused that bloody reaction...”

“Outside of the obvious?” Claude said semi-sarcastically. He flinched when she snapped a fierce glare at him. “Mitya's sensitive, he thinks life is precious. That horrible slaughter...I was holding onto my temper with both hands; honestly, if I wasn't distracted helping villagers escape, I probably would have done something fucked up myself...”

“Not like that,” Byleth rebutted quietly. “I've seen you loose your temper, Claude.” He winced a bit. He knew what incident she was talking about. “Your anger burns cold. It's calculated to cause maximum pain, but even then you delivered a quick death. Dimitri...he was tearing his enemies apart; breaking bones, shattering skulls – no precision, just a blind storm of destruction.” She shivered. “It was so completely counter to everything I thought I knew about him...!”

Claude let his hands fall to his sides. “I knew there was something he was trying to suppress, but this caught me off guard.” He confessed. “...Do you think if we talk to him, we'll get an explanation?”

“...I think we have to try. If both of us ask him, he'll open up.” _I hope. _

He smiled at her...and did he blush a bit? It was gone too quickly for her to be certain.

Either way, together they made their way to the entrance hall and toward the staircase. Reaching the medical wing revealed that it was empty now; Manuela explained that Glenn had left with Felix to write a letter to their father, Ingrid and Sylvain had left to train (_which probably meant Ingrid wanted to destroy a dozen training dummies to vent her emotions and Sylvain was keeping an eye on her..._) while Dimitri had said that he was going to evening service in the cathedral. Fortunate, in a sense. Returning the way they came, they crossed the bridge over the valley and entered the beautiful cathedral at the beginning of Seteth's service.

_I didn't realize he held mass as well, _Byleth thought curiously as Claude leaned against the wall, pretending to listen intently while his eyes scanned the pews for any sign of their golden prince. _I've been here for months but I haven't seen him in his capacity as a bishop before, only an administrator. _Seteth was speaking at length about compassion and patience, the duties of one to their fellow man. He was an eloquent man; it showed in his candor and the wise way he delivered his speech. _I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see him here...I wonder if Lady Rhea had something come up that prevented her from holding service herself? She is quite busy often... _

The service lasted about another twenty minutes before ending; Byleth spotted Marianne, Mercedes, Flayn, Lorenz and Annette in the crowd of worshipers beginning to disperse before her she found Dimitri. Claude naturally had seen him first and started leading her toward their friend, expertly weaving through the crowd until they were standing right in front of him.

“Oh...Professor, Claude...” Dimitri looked like he hadn't slept well over the past few days. There were shadows under his eyes and even as he smiled genuinely at them, he couldn't hide it. “Did you speak to that woman, Atra?”

“Yeah, learned a lot too. But there's something else that's worrying us...can we borrow you for a moment?” Claude tilted his head meaningfully to the cathedral's side door, which lead to a balcony on which they could be assured some privacy.

Understanding flickered through Dimitri's sapphire eyes, and his face fell. “Of course,” He said with a sigh. “Shall we?”

Startled but also relieved by the easy capitulation, Byleth walked at his side as the three of them walked through a pew past the confession box to the tall open doors to the balcony. The cool breeze whipped around her face as they stepped out into the evening. The sunset blazed a beautiful swirl of color across the sky; the distant cry of birds and the rustle of wind in the tree branches was the only sound interrupting the quiet. While there were often people lingering in this balcony in the middle of the day, but later you could count on it to be quiet, remote and empty.

“I'm so sorry you saw that side of me in Remire,” Dimitri said abruptly, before either of them could get a word in edgewise. The prince looked between them with a tortured expression. “I-I'm mortified by my behavior. If I disgust you now, I don't blame you.”

“It's not disgust. Just complete and utter confusion,” Claude retorted with the shake of his head. There was a much gentler look on his face than Byleth typically saw in him. “Mitya, what happened to you out there?”

“I...when I saw the chaos and violence there, my mind went completely dark. I lost control – no, I _gave up _control. I wanted those men to suffer.”

“I felt that too,” Byleth said honestly. Claude jerked in surprise and stared at her. “I told the Flame Emperor that I couldn't forgive this, and I meant it. If I hadn't been prioritizing saving the people I could reach...” _Then I would have reminded all of you why I am called the Ashen Demon. What would you have thought of me then? _

“I see,” Dimitri whispered. His eyes bore dark shadows just like Atra's as he gazed at her...ironic as that was. “So that happens to you as well, then?”

Byleth nodded. _This broken look he's wearing...it makes my chest hurt...what is this pain...? Am I feeling his suffering like it's mine?_

“...My father calls it Asch's Rage,” Claude said unexpectedly; Dimitri's attention snapped over to him. “The legend is that the ghost of the war god is omnipresent at the battlefield; whenever a skilled warrior catches his eye, he fills them with his rage and turns them into a living gargoyle. An embodiment of war.” The brunette smiled wryly. “Father thinks it's a bit simpler than that – that hearing Asch's whispers merely encourages the warrior to let go of their inhibitions.”

“Is that right...” Dimitri closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “I remember telling you once, Professor, that some day we may find ourselves facing something that we simply cannot accept. The chaos in Remire was that for me.”

“You didn't know anyone in that village, did you?” Byleth asked. “To take their suffering to your heart...”

“It must seem a bit bewildering to the two of you,” Dimitri acknowledged, placing a hand on his hip. Quite suddenly his blue eyes darkened and narrowed into slits – he took on a look that was almost dragonic in its fierce rage. “Solon and the Flame Emperor are _beasts _that must be eliminated. Demons who kill the innocent...they don't have the right to call themselves human anymore.”

Byleth felt her spine prickle in alarm; she was fairly certain she also saw Claude's eyes widen in response. “Where is this coming from, Mitya?” She asked tentatively, almost hoping he'd take the words back. They sounded so _wrong _coming from her sweet, _heroic _prince.

“It was the flames,” Dimitri whispered. Claude tensed up. “I've seen that slaughter before, four years ago...in Duscur.”

“Mitya...” Claude said worriedly, placing a hand on his shoulder. The prince didn't seem to even notice the gesture; his eyes grew faded and unfocused, lost in a moment only he could see.

“My father...my stepmother...Four years ago, they lost their lives in those flames. I'll never forget...I still remember their faces. Their screams. The tortured last moments of everyone who died that day...” His trembling hands clenched into fists. He gave his head a violent shake. “Remembering that, I lost control. I forgot who I was.”

“...” Claude stared at him, at a loss for words.

“I didn't want you to see me like that,” Dimitri admitted sadly. “I didn't want either of you to see this...this evil part of me. I value your – your good opinion is very precious to me.” The prince's shoulders sagged as he said this. “I'm sorry for being dishonest with you.”

“That isn't what worries me,” Byleth blurted out, hearing raw emotion racking her voice. “Mitya I'm afraid for _you_.”

Dimitri blinked twice at her, and then gave her a wobbly smile. “I...should have expected nothing less from you.” Byleth wasn't quite sure he believed her. “But right now all that matters is ensuring that the Remire villagers can go back to their normal lives.” He looked between them, smiled sweetly, and bowed to them. “Thank you, both of you. For everything.”

“Mitya...” Claude said hesitantly. Dimitri straightened up and started to leave the balcony, only to hesitate.

“There's a reason I came to the Officer's Academy. Just one.” The prince turned around; his expression suddenly melted into that dragonic look again. “I came here for revenge. And one day, I will have it.”

Without another word, he left.

“Was that supposed to be comforting?” Claude wondered, audibly shaken. He looked torn between rushing after Dimitri and staying frozen in shock. “What in the blazing flames?”

_We certainly can't tell him about Atra right now. _“I think we should try not to leave him alone for a while...” Byleth swallowed. “I...I'm not sure what else to do.”

“We'll figure something out,” Claude said after a moment, still a bit pale – but then his expression steadied and he took on a familiar determined look. “I'm not gonna let him fall. Even if I have to hurt him right now, I'm going to make sure he says himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I take a second to talk about the best scene in the Force Awakens? The best damned scene in that movie - nay, in the trilogy - is at the beginning. Ren orders the villagers be slaughtered. Finn is standing in the trooper lineup, the hand holding his gun shaking, poised to fire...but when the others shoot and kill those defenseless people, all he can do is slowly lower his weapon. No dialogue, no narration - just the perfect scene of shock, horror and guilt, delivered solely through body language. 
> 
> That's why Finn is half of my inspiration for Atra - a lowly mook who's conscience is violently jolted to life when suddenly confronted with what serving the Empire truly means. 
> 
> It's finally time for Dimitri's demons to take center stage! Hurray! ...I think! (I resent the fact there is no 'hug' option when he's spilling his heart out over the memory of the Tragedy. He needed a hug there damn it! I blame Byleth's lingering shock on seeing the boar.)


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri starts to teach Byleth how to dance, and tries not to dwell on how her presence makes him feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter isn't as long as you guys are used to, but it was fighting me hard. Here's to Dimitri and Byleth bonding over their mutual difficulties in the gentle art of dancing.

Dimitri had to forcibly remind himself not to hover around Glenn all the time.

His classes helped a bit in that department, but it was hard not to spend his free time chasing his old friend down and spending every moment he could in his presence. It still felt like a dream – that if he let his surrogate brother out of his sight for long enough, he'd vanish like morning mist and it would all be revealed to be a beautiful, perfect fantasy. Being able to see him – talk to him – felt like keeping his head above water.

A small selfish part of him hoped very dearly that the more time they spent together, he'd eventually say or do something to spark Glenn's memory. Manuela's words about traumatic amnesia were constantly on his mind; he knew that he shouldn't push, and he was trying – but it was hard when he mentioned anecdotes from training or childhood and see nothing but confusion or stressed concentration on Glenn's face.

It wasn't that his friend was a complete stranger now – that was the worst part of it. When he relaxed, Glenn would drop witty remarks mid-conversation or casually step in to mentor Bernadetta when the latter was struggling with a sword kata. He enjoyed sparring with Felix, Byleth and Ignatz, indirectly encouraging the latter whenever his lack of self-confidence reared its head. For various small moments it was like he'd never been gone at all.

But they were just that – scattered, brief moments. Otherwise he was quiet and withdrawn. He tried to hide it, but the guilt in his eyes whenever he realized he'd missed something...whenever he spoke to Ingrid...was tangible.

_Why isn't it enough for you that he's alive? _His stepmother chided him harshly.

Dimitri closed his eyes, struggling to focus on Professor Hannaman's lecture on heavy train tactics. He could almost feel his stepmother's presence where she was leaning against his desk. The faint smell of her perfume lingered in the air. _Of course it's enough. _

She sniffed and didn't respond. Whether she was giving him the silent treatment or accepted his protest, he could never be certain. She often retreated into cold silence when she was angry at him; that had always been her default reaction when she got upset in life.

He was less tired than he'd been in a while. The medicine Manuela had prescribed him when she was told about his sleep trouble had given him some welcome relief; his headache mostly abated and in general he felt a bit more put together. “_I want you to take this every night for the next two months,” _she had informed him sternly. _“Sleep deprivation can kill, young man, and I'm quite miffed that you didn't come to me sooner.” _

“_I'm sorry...”_

“_I don't want you to be sorry, I want you to mind your health silly prince.” _Manuela had lightly flicked his shoulder; a gesture that might have gotten her in trouble had he not been a student. _“I'll be keeping an eye on you~!” _

Dimitri smiled wryly at the memory. He could hear Claude chuckling at him; Byleth would give him a severe look and keep an eagle eye on him on Manuela's behalf. Imagining their reactions made him smile without even noticing. It seemed he was thinking about them more and more these days...warmth filled his chest when he thought about stealing time with them.

It was a miracle neither had rejected him when they saw the Boar. Even Felix hadn't...

He shook his head and made himself refocus on the lecture.

On another day, the subject would have had his full attention – he loved reading about the battles fought by King Loog, his best friend and tactician, and his queen in the name of forging Faerghus. He knew many of them by heart, particularly the original Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Even then he often went back to his books, to pick up details that he'd previously overlooked or theories that came into being in the aftermath. It was hard to grasp the thought that _he _was descended from almost mythical figure that King Loog had been immortalized as; occasionally he dreamed of the man, watching in bemusement at how his line had produced such a fragile boy given to monstrous urges.

Yet he was indeed distracted now, for all that he'd felt better in the past few days. His mind was on the troubled expressions his two friends had worn when he'd revealed his intentions to them.

_What is eating at you, if not what I did? _Dimitri wondered.

_'Mitya, I'm worried about **you**_, Byleth's voice echoed through his memory. Those wide blue eyes had bored into him, leaving him feeling intensely vulnerable in ways he was unfamiliar with. Licking his lip, he gave his head a slight shake.

_Focus, _his father scolded him. _Do not waver from your responsibility. _

Dimitri winced. A cool hand touched his arm; jolting, he turned his head and saw Mercedes brushing her thumb over his wrist while frowning in concern at him. “Dimitri?” She asked sweetly, pitching her voice low so as not to draw attention to them. “Are you alright? You're pale.”

“Am I?” Dimitri rubbed at his brow, a little sheepish. “I'm alright; I just didn't sleep well yesterday. I've let my mind wander repeatedly already...”

Mercedes let out a quiet giggle and smile sympathetically at him. “Oh, that's alright. Everyone's excited for the upcoming ball; you're not the only one who's only half-listening to Professor Hannaman right now.” She nodded in Annette's direction; their orange-haired friend was practically vibrating in her seat, tapping her pen rapidly (which Ashe was doing his best to ignore) and humming.

“...She finally went ahead and signed up for the Heron Cup competition?” Dimitri asked, feeling his mood lift slightly but noticeably.

“Yes,” Mercedes looked fondly exasperated. “I told her not to be so intimidated by Dorothea, and this morning she made up her mind to go for it.”

“I'm sure she'll do well.”

“I was thinking about perhaps signing up myself,” Mercedes tilted her head a bit; “how about you Dimitri? Have you given any thought to participating?”

The prince ducked his head, embarrassed. “I have given plenty of thought to how grateful I am that participation is not mandatory.”

“You can't dance?” Mercedes was clearly muffling another giggle at his expense, the softness of her eyes draining any potential malice from the sound.

“I didn't say that! I just...can't dance very _well_,” Dimitri sputtered. Sylvain twisted around in his seat in front of them, one eyebrow raised. The prince blushed hotly under the scrutiny and made a mental note to keep his voice as low as possible. “_Particularly under scrutiny!_”

“I'm sure you would do just fine,” Mercedes responded, undeterred. “It's not a lot different from the training katas, if you think about it.”

“...I'm sorry, but I fail to see _how_.” He tried to visualize turning dance steps into something more familiar – something he was confident in – but the image refused to form.

Mercedes smiled at him. “Hehe...I should bring you to talk to Professor Manuela and Dorothea; they were the ones who described it to me that way.” She clasped her hands together. “Come now, Dimitri; consider it practice for the ball.”

Dimitri tried not to groan at the reminder. Yes, he enjoyed occasions such as the one Lady Rhea and the church was preparing for them at the end of the month. Yes, he knew that he really ought not to be intimidated by it seeing as he'd been taught how to dance. But it didn't change the fact that he just wasn't very _good _at it, and he couldn't help but be a little self-conscious – especially when he had an audience! The ball would be a wonderful time for everyone to relax and enjoy themselves after the chaos and disturbing instances that seemed to be persistently dogging their heels...now if only he could find a way out of leading the dance...

“Our poor Professor though,” Mercedes said meaningfully. “She told me that she couldn't dance at all. If it weren't for Hilda I think she would have tried to sit the night out. Silly, isn't it? She of all people should really take this chance to have some fun and relax.”

“That's true,” Dimitri started, only to pause and frown in confusion at Sylvain. The redhead was grinning at him. “Sylvain?”

“Oh, it's nothing,” His old friend responded insincerely. “If the Prof doesn't know how to dance, somebody should show her, right? I know a few moves; the goddess knows father shoved dancing lessons on me as soon as I could walk on two feet...”

A hot lance of annoyance tore through Dimitri's chest. “I'm sure Hilda is already helping her,” He said, very much though his teeth.

“Whoa, no need to make a face like that your highness! It might freeze that way.” Sylvain then had the nerve to wink at him before turning around again.

Dimitri glowered and tried to refocus on the lecture. The intrusive image of his careless heartbreaker of a friend dancing with Byleth – his hands on her hips or the small of her back – made a frequent and intense mockery of his best efforts.

* * *

“Welcome, hopefuls and rookies!” Dorothea giggled, bowing dramatically where she stood at the front of the room with Professor Manuela. “Welcome to dance practice! I'm so pleased to see so many of you! The ball is still weeks away, so you might think that you have plenty of time to learn, but beware! Dance is an art that requires energy, patience and intense concentration!”

_I'm aware, _Dimitri thought not a little fatalistically.

He was standing awkwardly near the back of the room, which was surprisingly crowded all things considered. He spotted Ignatz, Leonie and Balthus of all people near the front of the crowd, the former leaning forward anxiously as he hung on Dorothea's every word. Ashe was here as well, standing next to Marianne. Yuri was leaning against a pillar on the room across from him, chatting with Claude (_hadn't expected to see him here_). Claude chuckled at something he said; Dimitri felt a familiar stab of jealousy and wrenched his vision away from the brunette.

_You couldn't have him even if he wanted you, _he scolded himself. He felt his face burning as longing and frustration warred in his chest. _He's a good man. He deserves better than a half-mad boar. _

Now longing to find some sort of distraction, Dimitri looked into the crowd again. He saw Petra pulling on Ferdiand's collar and saying something to him that was lost in the babble; Annette was bouncing in place and babbling enthusiastically at Caspar of all people (_I wouldn't have thought he'd be interested in dancing_) while Edelgard was up near the front, listening attentively.

Then his gaze fell on Byleth.

She was leaning against the pillar on the other side of the entrance, just a couple arms-lengths away from him. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach, and she was tapping her foot against the floor. Dimitri blinked. Usually she stood very still when she teaching, listening to a lecture, or not immediately interacting with someone. She called it a holdover from the time when she had no feelings at all; referred to it as 'my unique brand of apathy'. Even though she wasn't as numb now, it was a familiar position to slip into and provided some comfort. So the fact that she was twitching so visibly-

-...could she be nervous?

The thought was so incongruous – Byleth Eisner, nervous about something? – that he almost dismissed it. Then he considered it for a moment, and felt a little guilty about his first impulse.

_She has emotions, fool! More to the point, she has emotions she is still relatively unfamiliar with. **You **are nervous right now...how do you imagine she's fairing, experiencing a feeling she has little experience with and thus no familiar coping mechanisms for? _

Dimitri glanced up at Dorothea and Manuela again, where they were standing on the stage. Dorothea was still talking about the basics of ballroom dancing; something he was very familiar with (_for all that he often wished he wasn't_). Then he walked over to Byleth.

She blinked and straightened up a bit as he joined her. “Dimitri?” She asked quietly, tilting her head. One of her hands reached up and tugged on a loose strand of her blue hair.

_Claude told me you always do that when you're curious. Called it adorable._ _I chided him for it even though I agreed with him...of course I'm pretty sure he knew that, the way he smirked at me..._

“Are you alright, Professor?”

Byleth ducked her head a bit, averting her eyes. The gesture was so...Marianne-esque (for lack of a better description) that Dimitri was a little taken aback. “I'm fine,” she insisted. Yet there was a slight tremor in her voice.

“...Are you sure?” He asked hesitantly.

She seemed to shrink in a bit further. “O-Of course I'm fine! I just...need to learn. Because Hilda said it's impolite to refuse a dance at the ball. For some reason.” She buried her face in her hands, muttering “_but who in the blazing flames expects a mercenary to know ballroom dancing-?!_” in a faint and despairing tone.

_She **is** nervous. I never thought I'd see it..._

A thought struck him, and he forced down a rueful smile._ ...Of course she wouldn't know how to dance. Even if she'd been to dozens of noble's balls in previous years, it would have been as a bodyguard, not a participant. For all that lords and merchants alike often rely on them, mercenaries are seen as drudge workers. And if it was never a necessary skill, why would the emotionless Byleth Eisner have bothered to train in it? _

“Would you believe me if I said I could barely dance myself?” Dimitri asked her lightly.

Byleth peeked at him from between her fingers and stray strands of hair. “Huh? ...But you're a prince. Wouldn't you have to-?”

“-master at least one commonly-used variant?” He finished before sighing heavily. “Indeed. However, I have been reliably informed that I was born with two left feet.”

Byleth let out a startled giggle. Dimitri _felt _the hapless smile crossing his face as she blessed him with the beautiful sound of her voice. “I'm sorry,” she said hurriedly when her laughter subsided, “That's just hard to imagine. You walk with such assurance, I can't imagine...”

“It's true,” Dimitri promised. “Ingrid can corroborate for me.” Byleth giggled again. _Beautiful, _he thought happily.

Of course, her expression softened with concern. “How is she-? No, that's a stupid question.” She turned slightly and scanned the crowd in search of the blonde girl. “Is she out here?”

“...So it seems,” Dimitri said, unable to quite contain his surprise, when they both saw Ingrid being lead up onto the stage by Dorothea. His friend was still dressed in her class uniform – unlike her Black Eagle friend, who was clad in a glamorous red dress from a previous opera. Meanwhile, Manuela was having a piano brought in, carried by Alois and Jeralt (_Byleth let out a tiny surprised stutter at the sight of him!_) while looking quite pleased with herself.

“Oh,” Byleth said with a startled smile. “That's good to see, at least.”

_Perhaps it helps that Glenn isn't here. Although he never really cared for dancing; he only put effort into it because Ingrid was fond of- _Dimitri shuttered the thought before his emotions got the better of him again. _He's probably in the training yard with Felix. _

Manuela sat in front of the piano, flourishing her wrists. Dimitri noted in a mixture of surprise and alarm that the mass of students in front of them started to find partners, spreading out across the floor musical notes began to ring above the low babble filling the air. Byleth's usually-stoic face blanched and momentarily took on a look not unlike a deer that had managed to spot a hunter within the trees. Another surge of sympathy solidified his decision; the prince looked away from where Ashe was hesitantly sliding an arm around Marianne's waist and Balthus placing his hands on Hilda's petite shoulders to offer Byleth his arm. “Would you do my the honor?”

She blinked twice, a light blush coloring her cheeks before she hesitantly placed her hands in his. “Y-Yes. Though, I think –” She let out a small yip as Dimitri guided her away from the pillar and onto the impromptu dance floor, placing his other hand on her hip. “E-eep...!”

Dimitri smiled at her. “It's alright, Professor.” A smooth, lilting tune flooded the air; 'The Moon's Waltz', a favorite song of the Alliance. He'd heard it before on the occasional visit and from traveling merchants. He wasn't really familiar with it...but it was a slow and easy-going tune, so it made for good practice.

“One, two, three, four! One, two, three, four!” Dorothea was calling out from the front stage, demonstrating with Ingrid.

“I'm going to step on your feet,” Byleth warned him flatly, nervously glancing in the songstress's direction.

“I think I'll manage,” Dimitri assured her. She glanced at him from under her bangs, nervous and shy; his heart jumped. He tapped her wrist reassuringly. “I had to practice with Sylvain when I was young.”

She blinked rapidly and let out a small giggle.

Thank Sothis (_Byleth didn't blink or give any indication her passenger was annoyed by this; of course, she'd always had a very impassive expression..._) the song was a relatively slow one. Dorothea was...surprisingly adept as a distant teacher; perhaps she was recalling her own lessons back at the Mittlefrank Opera company. Dimitri listened and focused on guiding Byleth through the steps; true to her warning, she did step on and stumble over his feet as soon as they started moving faster than a crawl. She yipped whenever she did this, mumbling apologies and glancing slightly frantically at the front where Dorothea and Ingrid were demonstrating. Her blue eyes were bright and intense, constantly seesawing from the complete concentration she brought to her classes and seminars to something more closely akin to anxiety.

Her posture was very rigid, which contributed to her frequent missteps and inability to keep up. “Try to relax, professor,” Dimitri urged her, keeping one ear tuned to the beat.

Byleth's fingers were digging into his shoulders; she looked past him and down at her feet, biting her lip. Dimitri swallowed slightly at the gesture. “I'm not meant for this, I'm not – not a _lady._” She ducked her head.

“That...is _not _true.” He'd never looked _up _at a dance partner before; he was used to being taller than his female companions except for Ingrid. But that was something that accented Byleth's beauty, in his opinion; it was true that she never really carried herself like a woman who knew she was beautiful...but she didn't have to.

“I'm not a lady,” Byleth repeated. She choked on a frustrated, foreign curse word as she stumbled over his feet again at the tempo change; Dimitri tightened his arm around her waist, balancing her effortlessly. “I've only ever been a mercenary.”

Dimitri resisted the urge to frown.

_I've only ever been a weapon, _he heard the words beneath the statement. _I haven't often thought of myself as a person before. _

There had been times – more then he would want to admit, to be honest – after the incident where, in the worst of his emotional spiraling, he'd wished that he couldn't feel anything. That he could cut out all these feelings that were torturing him. Hearing Byleth say that and know that's what she was thinking...his heart ached for her, and wanted to reach back in time to smack his younger self upside the head. To loose his feelings would be to loose everything that made him feel alive.

“You're both.” He said. Living with Ingrid had taught him a few things about how to phrase meaningful compliments so they didn't sound like empty air. “You are beautiful, Byleth. Surely Hilda said as much when she dragged you off to get you measured for a dress.”

Byleth groaned and lowered her head, pressing it against his shoulder. “How do you know about that...?! ...Right, Mercie...argh...”

“...Actually, I overheard it.” Dimitri said sheepishly. She groaned, a hot blush crossing her face. “I was at the blacksmith when they brought you into the town.”

He'd been in and out of that building so much that the man had started giving him discounts in spite of his protests. _I've never seen a boy your age break so many weapons, _the blacksmith had laughed when handing him the Horseslayer back. _You hear all the fables, but mid-story you never think about little annoyances like this, do you? _

Dimitri caved at that (_he blamed Byleth for breaking down his resistance...a prince should pay for his own weapon upkeep, darn it!_) and had just been leaving when he saw the curious sight of Mercedes, Hilda and Dorothea clustered around the professor – loudly protesting and babbling about 'kidnapping' the entire way – ushering her over to a pair of bemused-looking seamstress sisters. Hilda had cheerfully waved at the pair; recognizing them from the Alliance. “_We need the best hands available for a tall girl's dress!_ _She doesn't fit any of mine and her idea of formal wear is her school uniform; this is a crisis, you can set a price!” _

“Don't tell Claude,” Byleth mumbled as Dimitri guided her through a twirl. “I've had to bribe Hilda for her silence.”

“He won't hear it from me,” He said solemnly while internally squishing an amused smile at the mental image.

That song ended; Dimitri gently raised one hand to his partner's shoulder, encouraging her to stop. Byleth blinked and ducked her head so bangs fell in front of her eyes. _She always does this when she's embarrassed..._ “I'm sorry,” She mumbled. “I keep missing the beat... You should probably get a different partner.”

“Come now; I barely noticed.” Dimitri responded with a shrug. She blinked at him, her cheeks tinting pink as she looked straight back at him for a moment. “Though of course, if you want-”

“N-no! I-” Byleth shuffled her feet, tapping her heel a bit. Her face softened. “I-I like this. I just thought...I mean, I wondered-”

Her words were partially drowned out by Dorothea cheerfully beginning new instructions for practice. Manuela occasionally chimed in; the words were basically static in Dimitri's ears as he watched Byleth fidget. She was _fidgeting; _it was so odd to see her behave like that... she was always so composed, perfectly poised, radiating confidence no matter the situation. This other side of her was sweet and strange...it wasn't that she was _vulnerable_, per say. Was she shy? Testing the waters? Afraid of acknowledging that she felt out of her depth?

How could he make her more comfortable?

“You're doing better than I did in my first lessons,” Dimitri said, moving her hand and urging her to put an arm around his neck. She watched him attentively. “I'd put them off for as long as possible under the rather childish belief that dancing was solely for women. When I had to learn first, I could hardly take three steps without offending my instructor.” _And she was not impressed with any of my excuses, _he recalled more than a little ruefully.

Byleth tilted her head; slightly disbelieving. He smiled encouragingly at her. “Try to think of it this way – Mercedes compared it to fighting when I expressed my own reservations.”

“...fighting...l-like a kata...?” Byleth repeated dubiously. Nevertheless, however...there was a bit of light in her eyes at that. “...Maybe...” She shifted and readjusted her grip on him. “...Maybe. I'll try to...”

The piano started up again. Dimitri lead her forward, keeping half an eye out to avoid getting to close to any of the other practicing pairs. Byleth's brow tightened with concentration as the slow beat filled the room again. A familiar intensity filled her eyes; a look she took on when she was applying herself to something with the whole of her concentration. He nodded and picked up his pace a bit, encouraging her to keep up and memorize what she was doing.

Again, she stumbled and tripped at first. But something seemed to have clicked in her mind; her steps became a bit more confident, and within a scant few moments she seemed to find the rhythm. Frowning in focus, she startled him a little by beginning to hum along with the notes in the air; her shoulders relaxed fractionally and several moments went by without a misstep.

Her eyes were closed in concentration, though, leaving Dimitri to guide them across the floor. “That's good, Professor...trusting me to know where you're going?” He asked, adding as teasing a note as he could manage at the end. She let out a startled noise and promptly lost her concentration. “O-Oh, sorry! That wasn't meant to be a distraction.”

“No, you're right...” She said with a vehement shake of her head. “You're being very patient with me, Dimitri. Perhaps I should be calling you professor right now.”

“I think that would sound altogether too strange...” Dimitri tried to picture being called by Byleth's title. The image wouldn't form; even the boys he taught called him 'prince'. And perhaps more to the point...it was hard to imagine what he had to teach her.

“...Don't call me professor right now.” Byleth half asked, half stated. Her blue eyes were averted when she said it, but when he took in a sharp breath, they swung to meet hers. “At the moment...there's too much I don't know to be called that. So...just call me Byleth...”

“I...” His heart twinged. A familiar pain bubbled in his chest, a sense of being pulled in two separate directions. The mind and heart going to war. “...as you wish, Byleth.”

Her little smile was so bright and warm. The music wasn't just in the air, but in his heart too as he took it in. _I'm in trouble, _he thought ruefully. _I'm in deep trouble. Why is this happening, while Claude also occupies my thoughts? Have I always been this selfish? _He shut his eyes, recrimination after recrimination rushing through his mind. _I can't treat my two dear friends like this...these feelings...I have to let some of them go. I have to. That way I will at least do right by them. _

Byleth closed her eyes more than once as their practice dance continued; centering her concentration helped her find the rhythm and she matched each step one at a time, stumbling less and less as the lesson went on. She still stepped on his toes from time to time...it did cause his toes to smart a little, not that he particularly cared... but as he guided her, being her eyes whenever she was focusing, she was learning. And fast.

_Remarkable. _

Byleth's hand shifted, cupping the back of his neck.

_Oh, goddess...! _Dimitri resisted the urge to shiver. Or hold her closer, cradle her in his arms. Either were both dangerous and wholly inappropriate right now.

(_again, Sothis didn't smite him or otherwise express annoyance at being invoked. Clearly the mother was no mercurial figure...he had figured as much when he saw her embrace Marianne, yet still the notion surprised him_)

“It is a little like fighting,” Byleth mused as the music beat grew faster. She yelped as she tripped and missed a step, followed by a noise of relief as he straightened her up. “I think I can manage this...maybe,” her voice trailed into uncertainty. “Eeep!” In a bid to avoid stepping on him, she tripped again and stumbled directly into his arms – forcing him to catch and steady her. “M-Maybe,” She corrected herself.

Then she scowled a bit, muttering to herself. Dimitri was pretty sure she said something along the lines of '_yes, laugh it up – how about I force you to do this instead!_'

It implied something he couldn't quite get his head around and decided to ignore in favor of hastily helping her regain her footing. _And forcing down the wonderful feeling holding her in his arms had given him. _“You're just starting, Pr – Byleth.” Saying her name made him shiver. “Give it time.”

“It's two weeks until the dance,” She fretted, seemingly oblivious to his minor panic attack. “And I know that I can't do even this much without you...” She shook her head. “Even if I just have to dance once or twice, to be polite like Hilda said, I want to at least not embarrass myself or my theoretical partner.”

“Well, these classes aren't just a one-off.” Dimitri glanced at the stage, watching Dorothea confidently swing Ingrid around and around. She was taking the male part of the dance from what he could tell; a sign of how well-versed she was, he was willing to bet. And a sign she largely lived and preformed in the Empire; the Kingdom generally frowned upon cross-gender casting. “If you have the time for them, you can attend as many as you want. Yuri is helping you with your workload, isn't he?”

“Yes...but my classes, I need time to plan and prepare for them...”

“Can you not ask your father for help? He returned early from his last mission...I'm sure he'd be happy to lend a hand.”

Byleth bit her lip, visibly thinking hard on it. “I...” She frowned slightly. “I suppose I could...though...”

“It couldn't hurt...” Dimitri smiled at her, letting go of her waist to touch her face. _What are you doing, my foolish little prince?, _Patricia asked mildly. He winced a bit. Byleth frowned in concern at him. “You work too much already, my friend. You have friends that are ready and willing to share his burdens. Please, take advantage of it. We're glad to help you every way we can.”

“...I've never needed it before.” Byleth murmured. A thoughtful, pensive look crossed her face. “Or maybe I never felt like I needed it.”

“No one should be alone with their burdens. Especially not a kind person like you, who gives everything she has to others.”

“You keep saying I'm kind...you and the others...” Byleth shook her head. Now she looked a little grave, and...sad? “If you'd met me even a year before you wouldn't believe that. For all my life before I met you I was empty. A demon who felt nothing.”

“I don't care who you were before,” The words left his lips without him thinking about them – or even fully realize he was speaking. He just knew he couldn't stand to hear her degrade herself this way. “I only know how you've protected me and the others from the very moment we met. You lifted us up, taught us, and cared about us to the point that you were willing to die to save us. What demon would do things like that?”

Byleth didn't say anything in response. Her eyes were a glimmering and little watery, however; she blinked violently and gave her head another quick shake.

“Come now, Byleth.” Dimitri felt his smile widen a bit. “The dance is starting again. Shall we continue where we left off?”

She nodded...as she repositioned herself, Dimitri's momentarily wandering gaze caught sight of Claude, who'd seemed to have stolen Hilda for a moment. The brunette spotted him in turn...and perhaps it was the distance, but the prince thought that his friend took on a strange expression upon seeing them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, this chapter was much easier to write. (resigned laugh) Again, sorry it's shorter than the usual, but I'm happy with the amount of fluff I ended up writing! Dimitri deserved to have several uninterrupted sweet moments with Byleth after their last bunch of chaotic days. Especially since he's not great at lying about how he feels and is bound to slip up soon-
> 
> -oh dear. I almost spoiled next chapter. Oops! Well, I'm happy giving up this one spoiler - next chapter will be up to snuff and a proper length. I can promise that much!


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude gets stunned and has some rather nice dances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I understand why people have so much fun with the ball. (chuckles)

Claude woke with the sunrise.

He sat up slowly, stretching like a cat and rolling away the tenseness in his back. The book that had been sitting on his chest fell open on his knees, falling open to a random page. Looking down at the page revealed half of a letter and the elegant, yet somehow malevolent, drawing of a completely unfamiliar Crest.

_Maurice's Crest, _Claude mused as he carefully skimmed his fingers over the image. _I teased Dimitri for fretting about us being corrupted by our crests...and I don't want him to worry...but perhaps I was being a little premature. I wonder what happened to his little girl after Angel and Michael took her in. ...I wonder if she lived out her life in what's now Alliance land. _

_Maybe she and her father were the ancestors of the Cursed Family. Carriers of the Crest of the Beast._

The thought was disquieting. Though not quite as much as what he'd read about Maurice himself.

_He knew he was turning into a Demonic Beast. _Claude thought morbidly. _And at some point, he either chose to embrace the transformation...or surrendered to it. Or maybe he didn't choose anything at all, instead just loosing any human thought as his body was warped into the twisted creature. ...He was just a kid, at the start. At least Michael, Ren and Angel saw him as a kid. _

_Now if only I knew exactly who those there _were_. Damned water damage and careless curating. _He touched the header of the leader, scowling at the ink that had been smudged beyond legibility a long time ago. _You'd think the memoirs of the Elites would have been treated with greater care. Why was this priceless bit of history collecting dust in some Eastern Church basement, of all places? _

Claude sighed and carefully closed the book before setting it off to the side. _The letters mentioned Blutrang a few times, but I can't figure out if Maurice started transforming after he used it for the first time or not. Miklan didn't transform in stages, and he immediately lost all human reason upon shifting. Maurice experienced a slow rot slipping in and out of awareness...what's the difference? I swear, there's a single, defining difference between what happened to Miklan and Maurice, but I'm missing a key bit of knowledge._

_I hate it when that happens!_

The brunette looked up at the ceiling, lightly knocking his head against the headboard to vent out some of his frustrations. He wondered if there was any chance Atra might know the 'missing piece'; as a matter of fact, he also rather wanted to know where she'd spent her time in between defecting from Agartha and stumbling across them in Remire.

But he didn't wonder why she was picking up these old, hidden history books.

“_...I didn't know anything about anything.”_

The truth _haunted_ Atra. It was a specter of torment, a choking root of the evil she had lived under and unwittingly participated in. If anyone would be bitterly resistant to hiding history it would be her. Claude suspected she was always going to wonder, when listening to someone talk about their land or their enemies, whether or not they were hiding something.

A strange mixture of emotions bubbled up in his chest when the Agarthan girl flickered through his mind. Complex and difficult to dismiss, since they put him in somewhat of a conundrum.

Perhaps it was his father's sensibilities that made it possible – even easy – to pity the ignorant girl used to create a slaughter. To be an opponent in Almyra was to be a figure of respect – someone you could drink and joke with if you met them on neutral ground, someone you could later ally with or even marry if the stars aligned. Families didn't carry grudges unless something truly despicable, like the murder of a child, demanded blood for blood. Atra's horror and remorse at the memory of the slaughter – the breach of hospitality – would have softened her sentence even before her age and ignorance of her ruler's true intent were factored in.

Claude genuinely believed she hadn't really realized what she'd agreed to do when she poisoned the barrels. And frankly...seeing her shake and tremble as she admitted to her part...he didn't think he could construct a more effective prison than she'd built around herself when she understood what she had done.

And therein lay the burning anger. The rage that seared his heart every time he thought about what she had told him.

“_...that the surface was 'tainted' and made a haven for beasts...” _

Claude's hands automatically clenched into fists.

It was the same. Old. Bullshit. That he'd been listening to _all his goddess-damned life._ Other people are evil, primitive, cursed, unworthy of life. Other people aren't worthy of compassion or affection or even acknowledgment of their basic humanity. They should be wiped out before they do us any more harm, threaten our harmony our place beneath the sun-

Pain bloomed in his palm. He bit his lip hard and pressed his first against the blankets. _Deep breaths, little prince, _he could hear his mother saying. _There are no enemies to defeat right now. _

Not here. Not _yet_.

Atra wouldn't have agreed to the mission if she hadn't believed what Thales said about the surface. The self-serving lie resulted in so many pointless deaths, and for what? Some notion of 'human superiority?' Well, that was nice for the people who decided what defined a 'human', _didn't it_?

With a conscious effort Claude forced the muscles in his fist to relax. Warm blood leaked from the little cuts his fingernails had left in the flat of his hands. _Nice going, Khalid, _he chided himself as he sat up and fumbled with his desk drawers. _It's lucky that you aren't going to practice archery today. _

The self-recrimination helped drain his anger away. There was no point in getting all worked up when he had no target. He would simply have to stow it away, let it burn until it became cold as autumn frosts...until the moment arrived. The moment he could make certain people's ends as painful and drawn out as possible.

_You better keep up, Atra, or I might not leave anything for you to step on when I'm done. _

He briefly entertained saying as much to her face – if only to coax an expression other than exhausted despair or burning anger out of her. ...Maybe later, once he and Byleth had taken steps to earn her trust. She was skittish as an abused pegasus foal (not that he blamed her); some ill colored jokes might turn her away from them. The sooner she felt safe around them, the sooner he could start easing Dimitri into the idea that somebody involved in the greatest tragedy of his life hadn't been a sadistic monster. That she was actually someone at least worthy of pity, if not any level of forgiveness.

_That _was going to take every charismatic bone in his body. He was not looking forward to it.

_Well, now that I'm too worked up to sleep... _Claude sighed quietly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, placing the book carefully underneath more innocuous textbooks in his desk drawer. Sliding it closed with a click (and rather wishing for a lock, like the ones in Seteth's office) he stood up and stretched. _Might as well head down and see if I feel like a bit of practice. I'll want to get in done in the morning with the ball coming right up!_

Rolling his shoulder, Claude got dressed and pulled on his shoes. He was about to get up when he heard a door open further down the hallway. Pausing virtually in place, he listened carefully...the floor creaked ever so slightly; the door closed very quietly – if he wasn't in the habit of listening to anything out of the ordinary, he would have missed it. This person was very good at slipping away.

Creeping across his floor, Claude grabbed his door handle and eased it open just enough for him to look out into the hallway – slow and careful so as not to give himself away.

Dimitri stood in the hallway, looking up and down the hall. The blonde's hair was a mess, and he was tugging on his coat in an attempt to straighten it out. Surprise and concern mingled in his chest.

“You're up early,” He remarked, softly teasing as he stepped out of his room. Dimitri spun around and stared for a few seconds before relaxing at the sight of him. “Did the rain wake you?” It had been storming something fierce in the middle of the night.

“No,” Dimitri said with a slight stumble. “No, I...I didn't startle you, did I?”

“I'm pretty sure I did the startling,” Claude teased. Seeing Dimitri tentatively smile in response eased his heart. “Going anywhere in particular?”

“...I hoped to train a little?” The prince looked embarrassed to admit it; probably because it was the day of the ball and he couldn't imagine anyone else wanting to do anything but relax. “That must sound silly, but it helps me relax...”

Claude chuckled quietly. “Dear Sothis, I need to introduce you to my father sometime...” A wave of homesickness crashed over him as he said that; ever since he told Byleth his other name – since he'd had That Conversation with Sothis, to be honest – he'd found himself intermittently yearning for his other home. He missed the wide open plains, he missed the mountains, he missed Ivory – and it wasn't like he hadn't before, but his self-contained focus on his mission helped push those feelings aside. But now that he wasn't alone...now that he had friends, actual _friends _(how strange was that?), the feelings would come at random and fill him with terrible longing.

Dimitri blinked; a warmth crept into his ocean-blue eyes, bright and almost mischievous. “Tell me about him,” The blonde asked, gesturing down the hallway. “I suspect we'd be quite alone at the grounds this morning.”

The brunette felt his heart backflip and squashed the feeling with some effort. It was hard to ignore these days... “Out of everyone who's ever wanted to hear my life story, that's the funniest reassurance I've ever gotten. ...Let's go.”

Dimitri avoided directly meeting his eyes, even as he smiled. Noticing that caused a familiar pain and tightness. _What's wrong? Did I do something? Or is this about what you said in the cathedral? _Claude caught himself before he frowned, and trotted lightly to keep up with his friend.

There were a few servants out and about, but apart from them the monastery was quiet. Keeping pace with his prince, Claude kept one eye on his body language. He wasn't showing signs of tiredness as he so often did, but he seemed a little stiff. _A change for the better. _He waved off a young priestess in training who asked if they were feeling well before they stepped out of the building, trotting in the direction of the training grounds.

Once they were soundly out of earshot of anyone untrustworthy, Claude started to talk. He wasn't sure where to start initially; so he picked up where he'd left off in Ivory's story. Father had eventually turned the job over to Nader (he was kind of busy, after all) but he'd taught Claude the first steps in how to fly and how to fight on wyvern back. He'd offhandedly mentioned that taming was a rite of passage, and Dimitri proved very curious about that; while they were inside the hall setting up archery targets Claude elaborated on the tradition, discussing what was expected of young Almyran children.

He was still nervous talking about it, here in Garreg Mach. Frequently he glanced over his shoulders at the closed doors, half expecting to find someone listening in on them and glaring at him with eyes full of blind hate. Yet there never was anyone, and even when he strained to listen for footsteps or whispering, his ears only found Dimitri's curious voice.

It was soothing.

“You're holding it wrong,” He chided Dimitri, walking over and grasping the prince's arm. “This is not a lance. Your muscle memory is tricking you.”

Dimitri murmured something Claude didn't quite catch, ducking his head in embarrassment. “My shoulder feel strange, so I readjust without noticing.”

“It happens when you have a preferred weapon. There's a reason I barely use axes or swords despite the fact I'm decent with both them...” Claude let go of those rough, calloused fingers a few seconds later than he probably should have. He stepped back and suppressed a cough. _No need to draw attention to it... _“Better.”

Dimitri smiled at him, something flickering across his eyes. “Thank you.” He turned his attention back to the targets, brow furrowing in concentration. Claude hesitantly slung his bow off of his shoulder and strung another arrow. _You're imagining things, _he chided himself.

He still outshot Dimitri easily. Not really a surprise, seeing as he'd been using a bow since he was six, but he could tell that his prince found that mildly discouraging. He was hitting one bullseye and then another, though, so Claude just teased him for his Felix-esque training habits. That earned him some sputtered protests, yet nevertheless had the effect that he wanted – pulling him out of his self-deprecation.

_He does that a lot, now that I think about it..._

They continued to practice as the sun slowly crept upward in the sky. Progress was made, small as it was, right up until-

“Damn it!”

Claude winced sympathetically at Dimitri's pained curse as the string snapped. The blonde was shaking his hand roughly, dropping the training weapon to the ground with an unhappy noise. “Everything alright over there, Mitya?”

“I broke another one.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Your _hand_, Mitya. How's your hand? Sheesh, you yelp like someone's poured boiling water on you and you think I'm worried about the bow?” He grabbed some cloth off a side table and walked over to his prince.

“...I'm sorry?” Dimitri said after a second. He looked a little sheepish, and there was a red tint to his cheeks. Claude firmly shoved his mind into the box where he kept his silly hopes in (god how that box rattled and screamed) and took the offending hand in his own, inspecting it. He nodded a bit to himself at the painful-looking but thankfully minimal damage caused by the string snap before starting to bind it up with long practice.

Dimitri was very quiet, holding his hand steady as Claude worked. The brunette could feel the prince's eyes lingering on him and avoided meeting them, pretending to be wholly focused on his work. Tying off the bandage he straightened up, looking past Dimitri and chiding him in a joking tone... “It's really not that strange that I don't want you to get hurt, is it?”

“I'm sorry...”

“Don't be sorry. Just trust me a bit, okay?” Claude did meet his eyes this time, expression serious.

Dimitri stared back at him, ocean-blue eyes odd and unreadable. His other hand came up and clasped Claude's wrist in his other hand. “I trust you,” he said quietly.

“Then I can hold you to that, huh?” Claude raised an eyebrow challengingly; he knew when he was being passively deflected.

“...” Dimitri didn't answer. He was looking into the brunette's eyes as if searching for something; his eyes softened. Something akin to tenderness crossed his face...Claude's lips parted to ask him what was wrong; he saw something in those gemlike orbs snap and then-

It was brief. It only lasted a few seconds.

But the kiss was soft, sweet, and inviting; Claude froze at the touch, his mind blanking out as Dimitri's lips pressed against his.

Dimitri gasped and pulled away, breaking the kiss. “I'm sorry...!” He stammered.

Then he fled from the hall without a word.

* * *

“Claude? Are you alright?”

Claude jerked up in his seat, blinking several times until his eyes focused on Marianne. The blue haired girl wore a frown of concern half hidden beneath her long bangs. “W-Wha? Oh, yeah – I'm fine. Just thinking.”

“I thought you were falling asleep,” Lysithea said. She fidgeted and winced a bit as Marianne tugged on her hair. “Ow!”

“I'm sorry,” She said, ducking her head a bit. “You're hair is so thick, I have to work the tangles out in layers. I'll try moving a bit closer...Hilda said that wet hair is easier to brush, but I'm afraid of getting your dress damp...”

Lysithea eyed him warily as Marianne continued to brush and braid her hair, clearly waiting for him to tease her. She looked very uncertain, dolled up as she was in a golden evening dress with emerald bracelets. She clearly wasn't used to dressing like a little lady and was waiting for him to tease her...and he would have, if his mind wasn't somewhere else entirely.

He had to forcibly remind himself not to bring his hand to his lips. That would give him dead away.

“Need a hand, Mari?” Claude asked lightly instead to redirect the conversation.

“Do NOT let him near my hair,” Lysithea blurted out before the blue haired girl could respond.

“Aw, you're hurting my feelings Lys,” He said, dramatically clutching at his chest. She rolled her eyes while Raphael laughed boisterously a couple of chairs over. Somehow the big guy had been wrestled into a two-piece of decently expensive formal wear that wasn't bursting off of his enormous frame; more of Hilda's magic/ability to find miracle seamstresses? “No tricks and no funny business, I promise. It's only an hour until the ball. I'm not that much of a jerk, am I?”

Lysithea eyed him mistrustfully for a moment before skeptically asking, “How much do you know about this?” She twitched ever so slightly, wincing when this caused Marianne's brush to pull hard on her scalp again.

“Plenty. You can thank my mom later,” Claude responded honestly as he got out of his chair and circled around his young friend. _Mother was very keen on making sure I could do my own braids. The meaning behind them is too important. _Marianne moved over a bit so he could see what she was doing, and contribute. “Right, right...”

Carefully running his fingers through Lysithea's long silver locks proved Marianne's observation without a doubt – her hair was thick and heavy. There was something slightly odd about them, too – like they were a little _too _soft, somehow. _Weird. _But he didn't say anything about that. Instead he grabbed a comb and started carefully parting the right side, which Marianne hadn't reached yet.

“Pull on me too many times, and I'm gonna stomp on your foot...” Lysithea warned him. There wasn't much bite in her words, however; they were underlined with the slightest surprise.

“Oooh, very intimidating,” He teased, feeling ever so slightly more like himself.

Claude glanced at Marianne, noting that she was doing up her shorter friend's hair in a half bun with braids. He carefully combed out a number of tangles before starting to work in earnest, trying to narrow down his view and his mental energy so her white hair was all that he was thinking about. Tried to focus solely on the task, give his spinning mind something to occupy itself on.

He wanted to think about anything but the warmth still lingering on his lips.

_Dimitri kissed me. _

His fingers trembled slightly on the comb. He allowed himself a slight shake of the head before forcing him hands to relax.

_Dimitri gave me an unquestionably romantic kiss. _

He started a braid. His fingers slipped far more times than was acceptable for the number of times that he had done this.

_He wasn't drunk. He wasn't so tired he confused me for someone else. He kissed me because...because he wanted to. _

Lysithea let out a little mewl of discomfort that doubled as a warning. He gave her some long-practiced placation that even he knew sounded distracted before moving the braid back and pinning it.

_Why? When? ...How? _

Was he keeping up his smile? He thought so, but he wasn't sure. Marianne glanced at him for a second before returning her attention to their joint work.

_Back during that mess with the chalice – Dimitri was acting weird around me and Yuri. He said he was jealous. Jealous because Yuri kissed me? _

“Is that you, Lysithea? I must say, you look absolutely divine!” Lorenz proclaimed after striding through the doorway. He was dressed in expensive formal wear, no doubt picked from the hottest current trend. “I knew it wouldn't take much effort from Marianne to bring out your inner beauty.”

“You say that to every girl,” Lysithea said dryly, but easily. She tugged a bit at her sleeves hesitantly. Claude distantly realized that she had rarely, if ever, thought of herself as beautiful.

“B-But it's true!” Ignatz blurted out. He, too, was wearing a surprisingly current and very respectable suit. Claude raised one curious eyebrow at Lorenz, who gave Ignatz a pleased nod. As strange as it had seemed a first, Lorenz had taken the short painter under his wing and was regularly encouraging him...was this by a chance a gift? “You look amazing, Lysithea. It really brings out your eyes.” He jumped and said. “Y-You too, Marianne...you're incredible.”

“The absolute truth,” Claude heard himself add. He saw Marianne blush out of the corner of his eye. Lysithea shifted a bit, and he half-wished he could see her face.

“T-Thank you...”

Claude closed his eyes for a split second, then pinned his next braid. Between the two of them, she was almost ready for the dance floor. Who would steal her away first? Perhaps Cyril, who was staring at her with his mouth slightly hanging open? (_He was dressed up in clothes very reminiscent of Seteth's. A gift from Rhea, almost certainly.) _

_Would Dimitri react like that when-?_

He frantically shuttered that thought...with minimal success.

_I don't get it. I've seen Dimitri looking at Byleth as though she were the goddess incarnate. _(which was surprisingly close to the truth, but that was irrelevant right now!) _He never did anything that implied he might – that he – ...or...did he? Did he, and I've been missing it?_

_That night he compared me to the fallen star...I thought he was just being oblivious, but what if he wasn't? What other 'hints' might have gone right over my so-called genius? _

And that lead his mind to something inescapable, something...something massive. Something that was almost too much to contemplate.

_Dimitri doesn't, wouldn't make a farce out of having feelings for someone._

_If he kissed me, that might...it could mean..._

Claude felt like his brain was getting caught in a water mill's wheel – ground down and crushed, unable to hold onto the thought long enough to fully realize it. His heart was pounding violently as his mind scrambled, clawed at the realization trying to form among so many memories that had insisted it was nothing but a fantasy.

“There you go...all done,” Marianne proclaimed. He blinked twice and nodded, stepping back as Lysithea got to her feet, hesitantly turning around in search of a mirror. Marianne placed a hand on her shoulder and pointed directly across the dressing room to the full-length mirror provided for them. The white haired girl hesitantly walked over, staring wide-eyed at her reflection. Claude could see the thought in her eyes, '_who is this stranger and how has she stolen my face?', _as she slowly turned in a circle – taking in her elegantly tied up hair, her dress, her jewelry, all that made her look like a completely different and magnificent young lady.

It was hard to imagine that this was the same tomboy who was quick to throw books at someone who got on her nerves.

“See? Told you,” Claude teased, clapping his hands together. Lysithea whirled and stared at him, eyes widening slightly when she caught nothing but sincerity in his expression.

“Where's the Professor? Or Hilda, for that matter...” Lorenz mused, looking around. “Surely neither of them have declined to participate in the ball?”

“Hilda ran off with Teach earlier,” Claude responded with a shrug. “Claimed Dorothea sent her to ensure the kidnapping was a success. I'm not sure, but I'm willing to bet Mercedes is with them. Apparently they wanted the honor of getting Teach ready for her first social event all to themselves.”

Lorenz slumped a bit at that while Lysithea snickered. Cyril sighed heavily and mumbled something like 'sounds like Hilda, all right'. Ignatz sputtered a bit.

“Oh yeah, I remember seeing Hilda carry the professor off!” Raphael said brightly. “Actually, she'd gone to get Bernadetta first – she was trying to hide out in her room, y'see. Teach was passing by at that point, so Hilda recruited Balthus to carry Bernadetta for her while she got our Teach! She tried to run off, but this time Hilda was faster. I didn't know she could do that!”

“Hilda loves surprising people,” Claude said, chuckling at both Lorenz and Cyril's expressions.

“She has Dorothea to help? She would know a lot about dresses and jewels...” Ignatz looked thoughtful. “And Bernadetta is friends with her, so if anyone could make her feel comfortable going to the ball, it would be them.”

Raphael nodded. “Yeah, Hilda's got it under control. We can probably go ahead!”

“I guess so,” Cyril said, looking like he wasn't quite sure what to think. He looked distinctly uncertain in his fancy getup – even moreso than Lysithea (which made sense, since Almyra had pretty fluid ideas of dress for formal occasions) – tugging at it constantly.

“The dance will begin soon enough,” Lorenz acknowledged. “I would loathe to be late for such a wonderful occasion. I suppose I shall just hope that our professor and sweet Bernadetta will not be held up overlong by our fellow students and make my entrance. The ladies will be waiting, after all!”

“In your dreams, maybe,” Lysithea retorted immediately, awkwardly picking up her skirts. “Let's go, Marianne, before he tries to trap either of us for a dance.” A mischievous look crossed her face. “I'll even help you find Ashe.”

Marianne turned quite red and stammered out protests that went duly ignored by the white-haired girl as she was nudged/lead out of the room. Raphael followed on his heels, saying a bunch of well-meaning things about how Ashe would totally pass out when he saw her that were probably _not_ helping his friend's nerves.

Claude allowed himself a small chuckle at that before getting up. It helped hide his nerves, hide how his heart was throwing a formal protest at the thought of Dimitri being there, waiting in the dance hall (_waiting for him-?_) in the light of the setting sun.

_He panicked when he realized what he'd let slip..._

_...He was probably thinking about everything I've been telling myself for a while now..._

He followed Ignatz and Cyril out, keeping ahead of Lorenz as he turned these thoughts over in his mind.

_...Heh...who knew I could be that oblivious? I haven't felt this stupid in – well, I don't feel this stupid very often. _He quickly revised that sentence to avoid spiralling into recent, unpleasant revelations. There would be a time and a place for them; now he had something more immediate to think about... _What should I do? What should either of us do? _

_There's the obvious answer – and the one he'll probably hear from Rodrigue. That it can't go anywhere, because he needs a wife, needs children. There's the answer I would get from my parents – 'fuck **that**, bring him home and 'Teach' too while you're at it'. _He resisted the urge to either chuckle or wince at that mental image. _I have no idea how receptive Dimitri would be to the idea that my old man's considered a weirdo not just because he married my mom, but because he **only** married my mom; that he could take another wife or husband but chooses not to. _

_No one has passed the 'Demon Queen's test in that regard. _

That would be the tearing point, wouldn't it? He couldn't plan for anything unless he knew what Dimitri wanted. And he had a sneaking suspicion that getting his prince to tell him what he wanted – instead of what his duty demanded – would be akin to pulling teeth.

_I guess that's the answer for now, isn't it? I need to find out what Dimitri feels...and try to figure out what he really wants. _

His lip curved upwards.

_Then I'll bang my brain against the wall that is the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. _

Having something of a plan gave him a modicum of peace of mind; he followed his classmates toward the ballroom, which was at the far back of the monastery. The weather was beautiful considering the time of year, but he was glad that the celebration was taking place inside. It just seemed like a wise precaution considering everything that had been going on at this particular location for the last several months...

Claude rolled his eyes. Nope, he was not going to worry about that tonight. It was time to take a break, have some fun, eat sweets and dance. Never even mind that his preferred styles weren't native to Fodlan, it was going to be fun anyway!

Ignatz and Cyril worked together to push the double doors open. A warm breeze washed over them via the open windows as they stepped into the crowded hall.

He'd gotten so used to his modestly-sized class that Claude often forgot that they were only first years in the Academy. There were four years of study, though going through all of them was optional. The older students had formed a ring around the dance floor, while some of the younger ones were surrounding various tables, trying wine or snacking on pastries of several varieties. It was beautifully lit by various chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting multicolored light through the stain-glass windows. The dance floor seemed to glitter with how thoroughly the stone had been tended to.

Just as he expected, Edelgard and Dimitri were leading the dance...he must have shown up a few minutes late, because he was supposed to be there with them. Oh well.

He just made his way through the crowd, eyes panning it.

A sight quickly caught his eye that instantly required him to smother a snicker. Lysithea had somehow spotted Ashe near the dance floor and made a beeline for the other boy, dragging Marianne along in her wake; there was a visible parting of the crowd where she'd made her way through them. Now she was hovering at the side, bouncing slightly on her heels as Ashe (who cleaned up quite nicely, it had to be said!) spoke with Marianne, shy hope radiating off of him. Claude silently bid the both of them good luck and hoped they would have a nice, uninterupted night.

Another sight caught his attention, one that was in the making when he happened to glance their way. Glenn – who looked _damned _different outside of his battle cloak; he seemed to hold himself completely differently – was awkwardly making his way through the crowd until he came to a stop a few feet away from Ingrid. She was in a lovely white dress and currently stood with her back to him, watching the dance floor.

Just as he reached her, the first dance ended as the piano wound down. Whoever was at the instrument only waited a few seconds for the applause as the two royals bowed to their respective partners (two older students that Claude neither recognized nor cared about) before turning his music sheet over.

A beautiful slow melody fill the air, and various small couples began to make their way to the dance floor. Glenn watched this with visible hesitation; he swept his long hair over his shoulder with one hand and took a fortifying breath before closing the distance between himself and his former(?) fiance. He touched her shoulder; she jolted and turned toward him, shock radiating off of her. Glenn shifted from one foot to the other, said something Claude had no hope of hearing, and then tentatively offered her his hand. ...Though he couldn't see her face, the brunette was willing to bet that Ingrid forced down a tear in response before accepting without reservation, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

Felix was watching this occur – he was too far away to see the blue-haired swordsman's expression or what he was thinking. _Are you happy for them, or do you think they can't possibly work out their feelings for each other over his amnesia? You're even more cynical than I am, so I'm not sure._ The other teen was lurking at a table by the window; leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He couldn't have vocalized his indifference to the idea of dancing any louder even if he'd screamed it. Claude mentally wished anyone who hoped to snare him for a moment the best of luck and kept scanning the hall, even as he made his way over to a table and leaned against it. He hoped to avoid the eyes of greedy heiresses...there were only a few people he wanted to dance with, and one of them was currently occupied – Dimitri was carefully leading a disgruntled-looking if well-dressed Hapi through the slow dance.

As his eyes wandered across the floor, he caught sight of Ferdinand spinning a laughing Constance around, giving her the whole of his attention. Everything about his body language sang 'smitten'; clearly there was some history there. Claude then noticed that Linhardt of all people – another person who looked startlingly attractive in formal wear – had coaxed Lysithea into a dance off at the far end of the floor.

Dedue was also on the floor, guiding Flayn around. The green-haired girl was all but beaming, clinging to his arms and laughing; hopefully both she and her partner were peacefully oblivious to the badly-camouflaged Seteth who was watching them like a hawk.

Yuri was lazily leaning against a table, surrounded by a number of girls and boys who were eagerly chattering at him. He seemed perfectly in his element...whether he was actually relaxing or ferreting something out, Claude couldn't tell, but he was relaxed and at ease.

Hubert was sulking off in a corner, glaring intensely at Edelgard's dance partners. Monica of all people was at his elbow, clearly trying to engage him about something. _You'd have better luck skating uphill, lady, _Claude thought, scoffing. _If he has any interest in anything positive in life, it solely revolves around Edelgard. _

Petra was curiously eyeing the dance floor while some older student tried to smooth talk her. Caspar was chattering excitedly at Catherine, who was standing by a pillar. (_Huh, I've never seen her out of her battle gear. ...Wow. I'm surprised she isn't beating off suitors with Thunderbrand. ...Then again, maybe she does and I've just missed it. There's a sad thought!_)

Lorenz was trying to smooth talk a thoroughly disinterested-looking female student while Ignatz made his way over to one of the concessions tables. Cyril looked almost terrified of his surroundings, clearly scanning the crowd for a familiar face and trying to stay at the outskirts of the crowd. Eventually he managed to spot Shamir in the crowd (_who looked distinctly uncomfortable even in the male suit she'd picked out_) and hurried her way. Sylvain was about where he expected to find the redhead; off to the side, surrounded by girls, charming one into taking his hand for a dance. Balthus was in a similar boat, though he seemed to be bragging about previous adventures he'd been in and flexing for their admiration.

_Yeah. This is a nice night. _

Claude rolled his shoulder back; he always found 'formal outfits' to be on the confining side. Yeah yeah, you weren't supposed to wear them into battle or anything, but considering how tough dancing could get, you'd think they wouldn't want to restrict your arm or leg movement at all!

A number of gasps startled him out of his thoughts. He looked around in confusion, seeing more and more of his fellow students turning back toward the entranceway. They were pointing and murmuring in awe; whispers of 'sure that's her?' catching his attention. Claude followed their eyes-

-and saw a sight that made his breath desert him.

Bernadetta (_his little sister; it surprised him how easy it was to think about the tiny archer that way_-) was practically unrecognizable in her dark violet dress. Dorothea had spared no expense to doll up her friend – violet was an expensive cloth to get a hold of – and the floor-length dress went miles to making her look her age. Often Bernie seemed younger than she was with how frightened everything tended to make her; now she looked like a young lady, elegant and refined. Her perpetually bushy and spiky hair was smooth as a waterfall and kept away from her eyes with diamond studded butterfly clips. She was clinging to Dorothea's arm for all that she was worth, shrinking away from the attention their late entrance was giving him. (_Claude was pretty sure he saw Felix start right off the wall he'd been leaning on when he caught sight of her._) As impressive as that was...she wasn't really the one who'd caught his eye.

That was Byleth.

She was almost unrecognizable, holding hands with an elegant Hilda who was leading her into the room. His Teach wasn't walking with confidence at all; her steps were hesitant, fumbling, like she had been transported into a different body. She was completely out of her element, aware of her body in a way she'd never been before. She had always been beautiful, even when wearing men's clothes or covered in grime and sweat from a battle. Now...in a floor-length emerald green ball gown that hugged her curves and muscles, a ruby-studded flower pin in her blue hair, golden bracelets on her wrists and a ruby strung on a necklace around her neck...she was breathtaking.

Literally. Claude was pretty sure he went several seconds without taking the slightest inhale, his eyes never leaving her as she slowly made her way in.

Mercedes brought up the rear, wearing the smile of a happy older sister as she watched both duos be introduced to the ballroom. Hilda and Dorothea lead their respective projects to opposite sides of the ballroom, beaming at the attention their friends were receiving.

Claude wasn't sure he agreed. Byleth seemed to recoil a bit at the attention she was getting; she leaned into Hilda's side, tugging at one of her bracelets. _She's never really thought of herself as a woman...she's never been conscious of people **looking **at her like this, even though people have probably noticed her before. _

He unhitched himself from the table and quickly began making her way through the crowd. _She's so uncomfortable, she doesn't know what to do, I need to get to her. _

Hilda had the audacity to grin when she saw him push through a gaping pair of older students. He gave her a Look that promised future retribution before giving Byleth his full attention. Like she deserved. Her eyes widened slightly as she caught sight of him.

“May I?” He asked brightly, stealing her hand from the crook of Hilda's arm. Either feeling cheeky or unusually honest, he kissed the back of her fingers like a proper gentleman.

She let out a small involuntary noise as he straightened. A warm blush colored her cheeks as she met his eyes; “I might step on your feet,” she said softly – half a warning, half a question.

“That sounds like a challenge,” He responded with a wink before leading her toward the dance floor. She didn't resist him, not even a little; even though he could feel her uncertainty in how rapid her pulse was. She trusted him.

“Tease,” She murmured as he put an arm around her waist, tugging her close as they integrated themselves into the dance. Claude smiled stupidly when she rested her head on his shoulder, relaxing as much as she could in his arms; he'd never had a dance partner taller than him before.

“You know it,” He whispered back. For a second he was afraid he'd gone too far, but then he felt her giggle into his shoulder. That stupid grin came back and he started to lead her around the dance floor. Even though he usually wasn't good at waltzes, his feet seemed to know each step intimately; he swept her across the floor, determined to make this night something out of a storybook for her.

True to her word, Byleth did trip and stumble over his feet; he righted her easily, smiling playfully at her vexed expression. He only slowed down enough to let her find her balance, then he tugged her along again, listening to the beat and letting it guide them along the floor.

Now, how best to avoid a partner change...

As he held her close, as he showed her how to dance, the rest of the world seemed to melt away. There was a brief moment when he was pulled from that warm blanket of bliss, when they swung past Dimitri on the floor. The blonde was almost completely ignoring her new partner in favor of watching them with eyes that read of longing – for which one of them, Claude wasn't certain...and that realization was exciting.

“I've never done anything like this,” Byleth whispered, not lifting her head from his shoulder. Feeling her breath on his shoulder made him shiver.

“You're enjoying yourself,” He said confidently.

“It's your fault,” She replied, the arm around his shoulders tightening a bit. “You make me feel all these things. You've ruined the life I've had up until this point.”

“Wha?”

“How can I go back to it and feel comfortable now that I know you?” Byleth raised her head a bit and met his eyes. “You're going to take responsibility for that, right?”

“I suppose it's the only proper thing to do,” Claude whispered back. His heart was going to burst at this rate. _It's not fair, it's not **fair**. How do you two do this to me? _

In what seemed like mere moments later, the song wound to a close. A hand gently tapped on Byleth's arm; Claude turned and found himself face to face with Dimitri. His prince glanced between them, looking a little overwhelmed, before he visibly summoned up his princely training and smiled at them.

“May I cut in?” He asked politely.

Byleth made as if to accept, then paused and glanced at Claude – waiting for his agreement. He winked again and – in what he would claim was another fit of mischief – took her hand and placed it in Dimitri's. “Be my guest,” He purred, causing both to blush.

He wasn't alone for long; Hilda stole him away before he had to start turning down some mercenary third years who'd been eyeing him for a while. “You're a brat,” He informed her when she wouldn't quit smirking at him.

“Oh, please!” Hilda scoffed, tossing her hair. “I did it for both your benefits, like the good friend that I am! What did I do to deserve that?”

“You know exactly what you did,” Claude bantered back, rolling his eyes and forcibly warning himself not to blush no matter what. He would never live it down if he did.

* * *

It was later in the evening that he finally managed to snag Dimitri.

He knew that he would have to wait – the prince was a much sought-after partner on the floor, despite not being the most graceful dancer available. So he slipped off to the side after a few dances, got himself a drink and some pastries, and simply bided his time. He was a patient man; his prince was well worth it. Keeping one eye on his prize, he went back to people watching while either avoiding or expertly managing those who came up to him for conversation.

Ingrid was sticking close to Glenn; it seemed they were managing to have a good evening despite some obvious uncertainties. Hopefully that would last...but there were bound to be bumps in the future simply as a byproduct of his amnesia. How well Ingrid could manage them would be key to their future relationship. Bernadetta, naturally, had only managed a few dances before fleeing the floor and winding up with Felix in a corner by a table; their mutual lack of sociability a great shield. Ingatz at some point had gotten Flayn on the dance floor, and after a few rotations brought her over to have some treats. They seemed engrossed in conversation, _I wonder what about..._

Byleth had been swept away by Yuri, who'd finally left Bernadetta and Felix in order to steal a dance with her. Dedue and Mercedes were slow dancing together...Cyril, at some point, had either managed to steal Lysithea from Linhardt or was picked by her as a dance partner...Dorothea was dancing with Sylvain of all people, _how did that happen...? _Lorenz was trying to chat up Leonie now, and surprisingly she was tolerating it...Edelgard was dancing with Monica of all people...Annette was chatting up Caspar, and Ashe and Marianne were still together. Catherine had gravitated over to Shamir, and they were surrounded by admirers they were completely ignoring in favor of each other...

Ah, there we go. Dimitri parted from his latest admirer; in a fluid movement, Claude wove through the crowd and caught the blonde by the wrist. “Might I have this dance?” He asked slyly, his tone at odds with the pounding of his heart.

Dimitri twisted and stared at him for a moment, his expression like a deer in the gaze of a wyvern. For a moment Claude feared he'd be rejected, or that his prince would flee again; but after a few seconds, Dimitri's expression softened and he nodded. “Thank you.”

Emboldened by his success, Claude took his prince in his arms and lead him onto the floor. The closeness let him really _feel _the electric tension between the two of them as the music started up again; again, it was as if the whole world had vanished except for those blue eyes.

For what seemed like forever, neither spoke a word. Then-

“Can I ask you ab-”

“About before, Claude, I'm so sor-”

They both stopped, a mutual nervous chuckle rippling through the air. Dimitri tried again after recovering his breath. His voice was low; they both spoke quietly, knowing this shouldn't be overheard. “I'm sorry about what happened earlier. That was-”

Claude's chest tightened. “Don't say that,” he interrupted. Afraid of what he might be about to hear.

“Wha? W-Why?”

“Don't say your sorry. Don't-don't say it doesn't matter. You can't-” He stumbled, stopped; scrambling for words to explain the storm of emotion in his chest. “You can't offer me what you did and then take it away. I didn't think you were that _cruel_.”

Dimitri's expression crumbled instantly. “It – I – It wasn't fair; you deserved better.”

“Right now,” Claude responded tightly, leaning forward so his prince could feel his breath on his lips, “I do not give a good goddamn what I deserve.”

“...But I do,” Dimitri protested – his voice so soft it was barely a whisper. “You deserve so much more than what I can give-”

“What do you want?”

“I-my duty-”

“That's not what I'm asking.” He wanted to hear it. Needed to hear it. His heart might die if, after being really, truly promised for the first time, this turned out to be a lie. “What do you want?”

Dimitri choked. His prince gave him such a tortured look he almost broke and retracted the question. “...I want...who I can't have.”

_I want you, _the words went unspoken. _I want her, _he might have added.

It wasn't the admission he wanted. Not yet. But it was an admission, one that confirmed almost all of his wild hopes. Claude brushed a quick, feather light kiss against the edge of his lips...reveled in how Dimitri's breath hitched and stopped.

“Come with me.” He whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FREAKING FINALLY! (collapses on bed. Cat promptly hops up and goes to sleep on my legs)
> 
> They're talking about it. My silly children have finally acknowledged it. They're finally going to talk about it! Yes!
> 
> It almost makes up for the fact that tragedy is right around the goddamn corner!


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth comes to some realizations and runs to her father for wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the single longest goddamn thing I have ever written. 300K words and I'm not even at the timeskip. How? How did that happen? This is amazing. This is incredible. 
> 
> So this chapter is several days late because love confessions are hard and I saw this one kid with a straw hat who said he was gonna be the king of the pirates. He pulled me into this rabbit hole that he said would bring us to One Piece. I have been falling down said rabbit hole for over a month and have yet to find the bottom. 
> 
> So sorry for the wait and sorry it's a little on the short side!

_My feet hurt. How are my feet hurting? It was just dancing!_

Sothis snickered a bit at Byleth's consternation as she stumbled out of the dance hall at long last. The young professor was exhausted, frazzled, and was torn between thanking Hilda for convincing her to come to the ball and putting her in consecutive detentions for talking her into this. _Yes yes, laugh it up, _the blue-haired girl grumbled silently at her passenger as the doors swung shut behind her.

_How can I not?, _Sothis responded merrily. _I'm listening to the mighty feared mercenary declare she has been brought low by festive dancing! You will not have much of a fearsome reputation left if you keep saying this like this. _

_That's it! If I get approached by another person, somehow, you're doing the dancing._

Infuriatingly enough, the green-haired girl clapped her hands together. _Bah, I would be delighted! If I but only had my own body, I would sing and dance until I fell upon the floor! _

Byleth muttered under her breath about 'cheeky goddesses' and 'needs to find a new hobby' as she scurried across the grass in the cool evening air. In all honesty, her feet didn't hurt _too _much – she'd stepped on nails or glass shards often enough to know the difference – but she was so dazed by the atmosphere she'd been immersed in that she needed to step away now, and her aching heels just provided her with an excuse.

_I feel so warm..._

She fidgeted with one of her bracelets, looking up at the clear night sky.

What was it about Claude and Dimitri that made her feel different around them than she did around the rest of her students? She had come to recognize the warmth that helping her students (it still felt odd to call them that, they were the same age as her, they often gave her good ideas, they would catch on to what she was telling them and finish her thoughts for her) – had become familiar enough with it to know that the bubbly happy feeling that hearing Claude's teasing or seeing Dimitri's protectiveness gave her.

Why was it different?

_I could tell you, _Sothis mused, surprising her. The ghost girl had become serious rather quickly – either hearing or sensing what Byleth was thinking due to their closeness – and if the Ashen Demon closed her eyes for a moment she could see the goddess(?!) wearing a contemplative expression. _But it would be hard to understand, because of the state your still somewhat in... _

A note of unease entered her ghostly friend's voice. _To be honest...I'm starting to wonder if my being here with you is part of the reason you couldn't feel anything. Human bodies aren't meant to carry more than one soul..._

Byleth hesitated at that for a split second before shaking her head. _Even if that's true, I don't blame you for anything Sothis...from what little you remember, this must be something that was done to us rather than caused by us..._

_'Done to us?'_

Biting her lip slightly, Byleth began to move away from the dance hall, her track somewhat aimless. _Father ran away from the monastery, took me with him, and faked both of our deaths to ensure that we wouldn't be followed...on the way back from Remire, he said that maybe he didn't have to do that. That we didn't need to leave the monastery. He hasn't said it, but I wonder if he thinks that Lady Rhea did something to me..._

Sothis frowned. _Rhea is hard to read, I'll say that much. Do you think it's possible?_

_I...I don't know. _Or maybe she just didn't want to. Rhea had been very kind to her, treated her with the same worry and affection that she used to only get from her father.

Then something occurred to her. _Wait, you know what I'm feeling means?_

_I do, _Sothis confirmed. A slight hint of her smile came back – it wasn't teasing. Just sweet. _But frankly, it's a very hard thing to explain even when one has a full grasp on what it means to feel for another person. _

_...Then what should I do?, _Byleth wondered, a little uncertain due to the distinct lack of snarky advice coming her way.

_Go find the two of them. And let those feelings guide you. _Sothis then smiled and winked. _Don't worry; I'll take a little nap so you won't be distracted. _

_B-But you're supposed to be my backup! _The Ash-no, the _professor_ almost wailed in protest; as slight as the change in her expression was, she very much had the look of someone who had just been chucked in the deep end with no life raft.

_You'll be fine, _the goddess said chidingly. _Now how about you go catch up before they make it to the goddess tower without you?_

Byleth blinked rapidly before looking around the yard again. A few seconds later, sure enough, her eyes caught a flash of gold; Claude and Dimitri were leaving the dance floor themselves. They were walking alongside each other...or was Dimitri following Claude, who was leading him along by the hand? There was something in their mutual posture that made her blood skip a bit, something that compelled her to step forward and – despite her discomfort – hurry after them.

She felt a phantom sensation of Sothis patting her on the head; reassuring. Then the goddess slipped into a more distant place; not gone, but more akin to when one of them was asleep.

“Claude?” She asked quietly. Part of her was afraid that she was intruding on something she had no place in. “Dimitri?”

“Oh, Teach.” Both boys turned around. Claude looked surprised for a split second; then something she couldn't interpret flickered through his eyes. He gave her a very soft smile. “Finally escaped from your horde of admirers?”

“For now, I guess.” Byleth winced a bit, shifting from one foot to another. “I'm not sure what happened back there...”

Claude rolled his eyes affectionately. “Still? Geez...what do we have to do to let you know how appreciated you are?”

“You must be tired, Professor...” Dimitri said. Byleth blinked at him, concern lancing through her chest as she examined his expression. He looked _shaken_, uncertain, nervous...a little afraid? Even as he smiled at her with honest warmth, there was a look of distracted -guilt?- in his expression. “Are you going to retire now? I could-I mean...”

“I'm alright, Dimitri...thank you.” She shook her head. “To be honest, my feet are tired...honestly, I've never had them feel like this outside of a battle before.” It was true, though it must have sounded odd to them... “If you two are retiring, do you mind if I join you?”

Instead of answering immediately, the two exchanged a long meaningful look; Claude's eyes entreating, Dimitri's anxious. For a moment that seemed to go on forever, they had a conversation entirely without words, punctuated when Claude tightened his grip on the golden prince's wrist. “Of course not,” Dimitri murmured.

He hesitated for a split second and then offered her his hand again. She accepted with another rush of concern. Even though his skin was cool to the touch, lacing her fingers together with his filled her with warmth.

She wracked her brain, trying to understand, cursing Sothis for being coy with her instead of explaining this terribly intense feeling...! what was that supposed to mean, _it's hard to explain even if you understand?_ She felt like she was standing on the top of a precipice, overlooking a canyon so vast and deep that if she fell into it, she would never emerge from within it.

She couldn't decide if she was scared or hopeful for some sort of understanding... _I just don't understand..._

“Byleth?”

Hearing her name in Dimitri's voice jolted her out of her spiraling thoughts. She glanced sidelong at him as she let him guide her along; the three of them entered the monastery and were making their way to one of the four stairwells to the towers. She'd been up the goddess tower a few times since she and Sothis discovered the latter's true nature out of the perhaps naive hope that lingering in the right places in the monastery might help her remember something...they'd had no such luck with that yet...

“Whatever you're trying to kill in your mind, I beg you to finish it off.” The prince said earnestly. The affection in those sea-blue eyes left Byleth stuck with the overwhelming need to ensure that no one – ambitious lords or Agarthans – could do him harm again. “You shouldn't look so troubled tonight.”

“...I've gotten so tired of slamming my head against these feelings I can't understand.” She admitted, expelling a harsh breath. “I'm so tired of feeling confused and lost, and Sothis is being staggeringly unhelpful compared to usual-” _talk to them, let the feelings guide you _“-and I just – I --” Her frustration abruptly gave way to uncertainty and shyness(?) “...I don't want to feel like this anymore...”

Claude turned around at the foot of the stairs, causing her to nearly walk into him. He wasn't fazed, however, smiling and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Don't worry, Teach.” His voice was usually soft, lacking the airy casualness that she was beginning to suspect was part and parcel of his various social personas. “You're not alone with those feelings, okay?”

Byleth blinked at him. Something...fluttered...in her chest, and she felt herself nod along with that _heat _in her face.

“C'mon, we're gonna get spotted at this rate,” the brunette said cheerfully. Out of the corner of her eye, Byleth saw Dimitri balk _hard _at that; the prince wasted no time tugging her rather forcefully up toward the stairs – she almost tripped over her own feet. The blonde hastily apologized as she regained her bearings; she gave him a look of bemusement in return and began to vault up the stairs, taking two at a time in order to keep up with Claude.

It was so quiet in the tower, especially compared to the hall...the sounds of the still-ongoing party were so distant, it was like they were coming from the other side of a river. Their footsteps echoed in the quiet, still air; something heavy was covering the three of them, and Byleth felt unnerved by it. She wanted to break the silence and pierce that haze surrounding them, but she didn't know how...

Claude reached the top of the tower first, pushing the door open and dramatically gesturing for them to come in. Byleth rolled her eyes affectionately as Dimitri followed her in.

The room was fairly small, but there was something comforting about it – perhaps it was in the way the walls were painted, or the delicate stain glass art in the open windows. Claude hummed softly as he placed his hands on the window railing, gazing out across the grounds before them. The sunset was casting blazing red-orange light across the sky...when you were this high up, there was nothing to obstruct the sight.

Dimitri released Byleth's hand – slowly and hesitantly, like he didn't actually want to. Byleth felt the loss of contact keenly. Her hand felt cold. After a split second she reached out and touched his wrist; he flinched and a strange, guilty look crossed his face.

“I read Stardust last night,” Claude said after a long moment of silence. He had the voice of a man who wasn't certain where to start, and ultimately decided to take the long way around.

Dimitri's breath hitched. Claude tilted his head slightly, indicating he had heard it, before continuing, “You know, I wasn't expecting such a popular romantic tale to have such a depressing bent to it at the end. The third princess and her knight both fall in love with the star, who ultimately has to return to the heavens or else he'll die. After they finally defeat the demon that shot the star down, they manage to steal his wings so one of them can follow him to heaven – but _only _one of them. So this knight, in the name of love and honor, gives his precious princess the wings without breathing a word of his great love, and convinces her to follow the star to heaven.” He let out a long breath. “That's his reward for his endless devotion – he looses his dearest friend and the love of his life in one fell swoop.”

“...That's what makes it an act of true love, isn't it?” Byleth asked uncertainly. She'd read the fable, her mother's present for her. She'd thought the story strange and beautiful, though something about it had felt sad...this was it, wasn't it? “Self-sacrifice?”

“I guess,” Claude said with a sigh. “That's sort of the underlying theme of the story, though, isn't it? That one can serve honor, or love, but not both?” He shrugged and brushed his hair aside in a negligent manner. “Maybe it's the Almyran in me, but I kept wondering – why couldn't they all just stay together? Why does doing right by the people you care about mean you _have_ to get thrown under the proverbial wyvern pack?”

Byleth blinked at the choked-off noise echoing from next to her. She twisted to look at Dimitri, who'd gone somewhat red in the face. “That's – w-what do you mean by the Almyran in you?”

“Ever since the first king managed to slay Asch's mortal avatar, warriors have had two spouses.” Claude said without missing a beat. “One who fights alongside them on the battlefield, and one who defends the rear or protects the home while they've gone to war. The two roles aren't gender-exclusive, despite what some people might tell you, and the martial law isn't class exclusive.” He chuckled lightly. “Of course, Almyra has a much looser definition of 'class' than Fodlan; but I probably shouldn't let myself get off track.”

“That's right...” Byleth mused. “The legend of Asch's madness and the warriors who had to send him off, that's what all the marriage laws are supposedly rooted in.” She smiled a bit. “The ending of the fable must seem very strange and arbitrary to you.”

“Eh, not really. Honestly it would still work as a romantic tragedy at home...the kids would just spend the entire book screaming in frustration over the knight's unwillingness to state the blindingly obvious,” Claude said playfully.

Dimitri sputtered incoherently for half a minute; he had turned quite red now, eyes wide as disks. “I...t-that's – that's allowed? I don't-what?! It's...it's _normal _to – to marry two people...?!”

“...Well, that was a _slightly _more subdued reaction than I was expecting,” Claude noted, turning around and leaning back against the railing. His green eyes were curious, but dark with nervousness and what might be a touch of hope. “I guess I thought it would offend your sensibilities more.”

The prince gave him a glare that was rather undermined by the half-hysterical tone of his voice. “_That's not an answer, Claude!_”

“Eeesh, sorry! Yeah, it's fairly normal. As if pops needed yet another thing that made him a total oddball...” The brunette rolled his eyes a bit. “Again, it's goes back to that old story – a shield at your right, the wind at your back. Without his husband and wife, the king would have been consumed by Asch's Rage and been consumed by the maddened avatar. They helped him turn the clans of Almyra into a single kingdom...sorta like how Loong's partner and friend helped him win his war of independence from the Empire.”

Dimitri swallowed hard. Claude was watching his expression intently, his gaze occasionally flickering over to Byleth to keep tabs on her mood. He seemed to be waiting for the prince to say something..._and waiting to see how she reacted to it...? _

“...”

Byleth pressed both hands against her chest. That warm-bubbly-happy-hopeful mix of feelings was pulsing just beneath her skin, as strong as when Claude had told her his Almyran name not too long ago. That sign of trust and affection had made her so happy...

“Why?”

“Byleth?” Dimitri asked, sounding very much like someone who had been startled out of his thoughts. Claude's eyes switched fully to her; she could feel the weight of his gaze like it was a physical caress.

“Why is it different for you?” She asked, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “Why do the two of you, of all people, make me feel these strange things? I'm not even anything but a fleeting figure in your life, why does it have to be like this...?”

To her shock and dismay, suddenly there was a hard lump in her throat. A few things, a few bits of knowledge that had been vaguely present ever since she started teaching that were now on the front of her mind. And Sothis, she _hated _it!

...So that's what it felt like to feel helpless within anger and sadness...like Hannah had been back then...?

“Byleth?” She was shivering; she hadn't noticed until Dimitri's steady hands landed on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “What's wrong?”

“How am I supposed to explain?” She responded with a tinge of hopelessness. In a fit of frustration, she threw herself against him, grabbing his arms and hitting her head against his shoulder. The feelings in her throat were strangling her; it felt painful to breath, and the corners of her eyes were blurry and stinging with an odd heat... “I've never felt like this before. I don't have the words. I don-” She coughed, clutching him tighter.

Another arm circled around her shoulders, just above Dimitri. She knew Claude's hands so well that she recognized them by the callouses built up by years of wielding the bow. “What's wrong, Teach?” He asked her anxiously. “What did I do this time?”

“You...” She hiccuped. Silently she cursed Sothis for going to sleep, wished desperately for her comforting hugs and words of encouragement. “You changed me. I don't want to go back to a life without you. I want...I want...”

The words wouldn't come. How could she explain it? “I want to keep this happiness you give me. The warmth, the lightness, the way the world seems brighter-” She shivered. Dimitri held her closer; she felt him press his forehead against the side of her head. “...You make me feel alive, and as soon as you leave this academy, you'll be leaving my life forever.”

“What?! Why would you say that?” Dimitri asked, stricken. Claude's protest was wordless and very confused-sounding.

“Because you are kings and dukes and I am a gutter-born mercenary.” Byleth responded, abruptly wishing she could turn invisible or use Divine Pulse to get out of this conversation, to just go straight to bed and avoid the two of them – but she couldn't quite seem to pull herself together enough to reach for the magic. “The best I could hope for is to be hired by you at some point...but it would just be for jobs. I wouldn't be allowed to stay close to you...”

That was simply the way of things. Mercenaries were social inferiors no matter which kingdom you were in; Faerghus feared them as godless headhunters, the Empire considered them drudge workers of the lowest level, and the Alliance kept them at arms length since their loyalty was to their paychecks. A mercenary could consider themselves lucky if they were permitted to marry a second daughter or third son; for a king? A duke? That was a literal dream. A fable.

Marriage. She wasn't sure where the thought had come from but it pierced through her like an arrow. In that instant she realized that she _loathed the thought _of either of these boys marrying someone other than herself.

Was that what she wanted? Was that what this warm bundle of feelings meant? Did she want to be for them what her mother was for her father?

“...Why would I give a damn about that?! I love you!”

Claude's admission was so blunt and so _startling _that it jerked Byleth right out of her self-pitying spiral; she twisted in Dimitri's arms and stared into those fierce emerald green eyes. “I would need a lot more than a bunch of self-involved nobles making a stink to not go after you...either of you!”

“Claude-!”

“Dimitri, I appreciate what you're worried about, but just _don't_.” The brunette cut him off. Byleth was fairly certain she _felt _her prince's heart skip a beat. “There's no one else like you...you know that, right? After everything...after how long I've believed that I will never, ever be anything but alone...I can't walk away from the two people who love me.”

Dimitri flinched. Byleth raised her head and looked wide-eyed at him. The prince was on the verge of tears – quite literally; his eyes were watering, for all that he seemed determined not to break down. She reached up and gently traced his face with her fingers.

“We've made you cry again...” she murmured sadly. “I wish I knew how to avoid that.”

“Mitya,” Claude murmured, quiet but firm. “Say it. Stop being so stupidly noble you're_ dying inside_. Please...”

“...” The prince let out a soft sob, letting go of one of Byleth's arms to grab Claude's hand. “...Now who's being cruel...?” He wondered weakly. “...But I knew you had sharp edges long before I started to fall in love with you...” He closed his eyes. “Forgive me for being selfish, Byleth...it feels wrong to offer you only part of my heart in sincerity. I lost the other half, you see.”

For an incredibly long moment, Byleth wasn't sure what to say. Then she suddenly found herself giggling, and she was _swamped _in that warm-happy-lively feeling – leaving her feeling like her entire body was on fire. “What a group we make!” She giggled. “A prince, a duke and a mercneary walk into a cathedral...hehehe! Oh, I don't know what Rhea would make of it...she said that nothing I said could alarm her, but I don't know about that!”

Somehow, that got both of her boys to laugh – though Dimitri was decidedly more apprehensive than Claude. “Y-Yeah; maybe we should keep this our little secret for now?” The brunette said. “'Least until I can figure out how to abscond with the two of you to the temple where my parents married. Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission, right?”

“You can't be serious –“ Dimitri started before shaking his head. “No, of course your serious. You do realize that if you 'kidnap' me, the whole of Faerghus will follow us into Almyra, right?!”

“You underestimate me, Mitya! I don't neglect the details, those are the parts of the plan that always come back to haunt you if you forget them!”

Byleth's giggle-fit got worse at that; she snuggled deeper into their mutual hug. “So this is love...?” She murmured. “This is love...” The happy feeling surged again, somehow even stronger yet. “...I'm so glad...” _I'm not a demon after all. A soulless creature wouldn't be able to experience something so wonderful, would they?_

She felt a gentle sensation, her hair shifting; Claude's kiss on the top of her head lingered as she straightened up and watched as Claude leaned a bit over her and kissed a tearful Dimitri softly on the lips. A tender, romantic gesture – Hilda would never let him live it down.

_How are we going to survive telling her? We won't ever hear the end of it. _

Somehow that thought didn't bother her too much.

* * *

Byleth woke in the middle of the night like she'd been stabbed in the ribs.

Perhaps it was a delayed reaction, perhaps the blissful dreams she'd had the moment her head hit the pillow after leaving the tower had hammered home this new state of her life. Perhaps the reason was irrelevant because in that moment Byleth experienced what could charitably described as a delayed heart attack of someone who had started an avalanche.

Which was promptly followed by panic.

_What have I started? What have I agreed to? What in the world am I doing?!_

As if it was making up for lost time, Byleth's imagination proceeded to run riot and fill her with enough stimuli to make the most passive person have a truly glorious panic attack. Old instinct and habit was hard to shake, fortunately, so she didn't wake everyone in a block radius of her bedroom begging for advice or just to find someone to freak out with her. With long practice, she sprang to her feet, grabbed her coat, shoes and a candle, and bolted out the door.

Her feet carried her almost on autopilot; she couldn't say she was really thinking about her destination through the haze of _what do I do how do I do this can I even do this bloody sacred Sothis, _yet her muscle memory guided her into the monastery. Twice she tripped over cats that had been doing late night hunting; she apologized profusely and gave them remorseful pets before redoubling her previous pace, looking for the one person who'd never failed to make the world make sense for her. The other mercenaries would have been flabbergasted to see her so thoroughly uncoordinated.

She scrambled up the stairwell, nearly dropping her candle and burning herself in the process. Cursing, she straightened it and continued on her way, jumping the steps two at a time until she was at the top. Her eyes strained in the dark as she crossed through the halls, avoiding the few guards and servants who were patrolling and working late into the night. She would not be distracted from her goal.

Around one corner, then another corner, then down the hall. She knew the way by heart, which was useful with so little light to guide her outside of her candle.

Grabbing the door handle to her father's room, Byleth gave it a hard twist and scowled when the door refused to open...due to being locked. _I will kick you down if I have to!, _she warned the oak panels. Never mind that doing so would have caused a stupidly huge scene; she needed advice and a guide and she needed it _yesterday. _She needed it months ago, damn it!

She jostled the handle, twisting it and putting pressure on it until she finally managed to beat the lock, forcing the door open.

“Ngh?!” Her father shot up in bed, scrambling with the heavy blankets as she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her. Jeralt blinked rapidly, staring as his eyes slowly focused on her. “Eh...wait...kid? Is that you? What's going on?”

Byleth hurried across the room, placing her candle on his nightstand. Jeralt rubbed his face and complained in a low voice, “D'ya know what time it is, kid?”

“I'm in love,” Byleth responded bluntly, ignoring the question.

Her father sputtered, jerking backward and hitting his head against the headboard of his bed. “Bwhatnow?” He said blankly.

“_I'm in love_,” Byleth repeated slowly and with careful emphasis. He was still waking up; he probably needed a minute to pull his fatherly wisdom together.

“...What?” Jeralt said flatly. Total disbelief radiated off his massive frame. “I'm sorry, I'm still waking up. I didn't just hear you say...?”

Byleth sighed heavily. She dropped unceremoniously down on the bed next to him and placed the palms of her hands on his knees, looking entreatingly at him. “I'm in love,” She enunciated very clearly. There really shouldn't have been any confusion over those three words, but it couldn't hurt to drive the point home as deeply as possible. “I have no idea how to be in love. _Help me!_”

The last words were a sibilant hiss, half a hysterical statement of the obvious and half a frantic plea for help.

“...It is too early in the morning for this,” Jeralt decided after a minute, pressing two fingers against his temple. “Too late in the evening. Whatever. Start at the beginning – you think you're in love? When? How? ...With who?”

Byleth gave him a frustrated look. “I do think so, and I need _help_, not an interrogation!” Seriously! Since when was her father so slow on the uptake?

“When did this happen?” Jeralt, however, didn't seem to be keeping up with the program. Given how dumbstruck he sounded, it was going to take a bit more prying to get him away from the opening statement. He was staring at her like he'd never seen her before. “How did this happen?” Then he frowned slightly. “Wait, never mind. I have this sinking suspicion that Riegan, at least, has something to do with it.” He rubbed his eyes again and cast around the room like he was looking for alcohol. For some reason, the familiar expression really wore on Byleth's nerves. “...You're sure?”

The question was oddly hesitant. Byleth nodded sharply.

Jeralt stared at her for another minute before mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like _'half a chance I'm still dreaming..._' before saying. “...I'll be damned. That's...that's quite something, kid.”

She must have given him quite the impatient glare at that, because he rubbed the back of his neck and said, “That's a good thing, isn't it? What's the matter?”

“What's the-? _I have no idea what I'm doing, _that's what's the problem!” Byleth barely remembered to keep from yelling – the last thing she wanted was anyone intruding on this conversation! – and put her hands on his shoulders. “What should I do, father? What do I do now?”

Jeralt blinked twice, then reached up and grabbed one of her hands. “Well for starters, stop panicking.” He paused and shook his head in wonder. “There's something I never, ever thought I'd be saying to you.”

“That is the most _useless_ advice you've ever given me.”

He had the nerve to smile knowingly at her. “Feels that way, doesn't it? But really, try and do your best to clear out your head and take some deep breaths. The world may feel like it's tilting out of alignment, but it's not. Don't freak out.”

“I don't know how to write poetry,” Byleth blurted out. “I know how to grow flowers but I've never arranged them, I only know how to make that one kind of cookie and I don't know how to act like a lady and how does one even act romantically anyway?!”

“...First of all, I wouldn't worry too much about the first half of that tirade. There's no set kind of gift that can act as a romantic gesture,” Jeralt now looked like he didn't know whether to laugh, wince, or sigh, or possibly all three. Byleth gave him what she hoped was an aggrieved Look. “At risk of giving even more useless advice...do your best to act naturally. It's the person you've been up until this point that this mystery guy finds appealing.”

“'Being myself' meant being an emotionless husk until just a few months ago!” Byleth protested. “There's nothing more unromantic than that...!”

“You're not emotionless now, kiddo.” Jeralt said soothingly. “That's why I'm saying just keep doing what you're doing. You'll figure it out as you go along, same as you've been doing since we arrived here. Love is both harder and easier than all the stories would lead you to think.”

“Tell me about how you fell in love with mom,” Byleth asked. Clearly a change of tactics was in order. “Tell me how you eventually got married. Please, tell me all the stories.”

“Right now? We can't at least wait until the sun comes up?” Jeralt looked back into her serious expression for a moment and let out a soft, world-weary chuckle. “Right, right...at least let me make us some tea first? There's...there's a lot to talk about.”

“Thank you, father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give you guys, my amazing readers, full credit for Byleth freaking out in the middle of the night and running to Jeralt for advice. As soon as I read that I knew I had to make a scene for them doing just that. 
> 
> Love confessions are hard, hard, hard. I think it's partly because you want them to be just grandiose enough while still sounding natural...but it was the confessions that gave me so much darn trouble with this chapter. I hope you guys find it satisfying regardless!


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri overhears some disturbing history, and the monastery suffers a sudden and violent attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This heat is melting my brain. This heat is melting my everything. This chapter is shorter than I planned because the heat is melting my everything. Please, Mother Nature, have mercy on your small and helpless children!
> 
> Also this fanfic has a TV Tropes page. I am just. So excited! You guys are amazing and please feel free to contribute to it!

The sunlight streaming though his window warmed Dimitri's face, slowly drawing him away from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He blinked a few times and propped himself up on his elbows. _...How incredible...I don't feel tired at all, nor does my head hurt. It's been a while since I've slept so easily. _Running a hand through his messy hair, the prince gave his head a slight shake, urging his mind to finish waking up as he looked around the room.

That's how he found himself staring at Claude, sprawled on the carpet of his room like a sunbathing kitten, a peaceful smile on his still-sleeping face. Dimitri stared at him for a few seconds before memory kicked in and the previous night came rushing back.

_The goddess tower, Claude, Byleth, their words, the **promise**_ **-**

Dimitri jerked forward so he was fully sitting up, shock warring with panic, happiness, and a dozen other feelings for control over his tongue. Claude stirred but didn't wake; it couldn't be very comfortable lying on the floor, but he seemed perfectly content.

_You love me? _The prince thought in helpless wonder. Sliding out of bed, Dimitri knelt next to the brunette, just looking at him. _I don't understand. You saw what I am, and you can still say such a thing? Claude...!_

Hesitantly he reached out and touched the side of the dreamer's head; Claude shifted again, his eyes fluttered a bit. Dimitri cursed himself and withdrew a bit. The brunette looked so unusually relaxed that he was loathe to rouse him from his dreams.

_What am I going to do? I should have known better than to make a promise I may not be able to keep... _A slight, crooked smile crossed his face in spite of himself. _But there was nothing else I could have said. _Briefly his mind darted back to the dance floor; Claude's flashing green eyes and fierce expression (I hadn't thought you were that cruel). _I couldn't toy with him or his feelings for me. _

_Whatever sort of creature I may be, if he – if she – truly feel love regardless of my evils...they deserved my honesty at the least. They already have my heart. _

Dimitri shifted a bit, watching Claude's chest rise and fall. Both of them were still dressed in the formal wear from the previous evening, neither having had the presence of mind to change after returning from the goddess tower. Somehow Claude looked handsome as ever despite how disheveled he was; _Sylvain would be envious. _

..._That softness in his face...I wonder what he's dreaming about...home, perhaps?_

Leaning back against the side of his bed, Dimitri tried to visually construct an image of Almyra from the scraps of stories and information that Claude had let slip over the past few months...his mind conjured a strange mashup of Faerghus and Duscur in the midst of the latter's warmest summer; with more mountain ranges and roaming wyvern packs, the glistening ocean always visible on the horizon.

_I wonder how we might find a reason to go there... _Fanciful thinking though it was, Dimitri couldn't help it. He exclusively blamed the troublesome brunette who'd barged into his life and then refused to leave. _He's lived in the Alliance for about three years now...he must be homesick._

“You're thinking really loudly, Mitya. What's the matter?”

Dimitri let out a small startled sound as his gaze fell on a pair of hazy yet still mischievous green eyes. “Ah! C-Claude-” _why are you in my room?! For goodness sake- _“I'm sorry I woke you.”

Claude smiled lazily in response. “Don't be. I'm not much of a deep sleeper.” Propping himself up on an elbow, the brunette pawed at his arm and tugged clumsily but forcefully. Dimitri managed to get out half of a startled objection before finding himself lying over the schemer and caught in a sweet kiss.

Dimitri could only muster a weak protest before surrendering, tangling his fingers in those soft brown curls and kissing back. It was soft and sweet; even after they parted a few seconds later, the prince felt like he was floating on a cloud. Sparing a few seconds to catch his breath he managed “I thought you had gone back to your room.”

“I wanted to steal a few more minutes,” Claude responded, smiling lightly back at him. His eyes brightened, glittering with both mischief and affection. “'S still early enough for me to slip out unnoticed, don't worry.”

“If you're sure...” Dimitri pushed himself back up onto his knees; Claude stubbornly held onto his arm, pouting.

“Where are you going?”

“Aren't you uncomfortable sleeping on the floor?” The prince asked in response, not bothering to hide his blush.

“Now that you mention it...” Claude reluctantly let go and pushed himself up onto his knees, rolling his neck. He winced a bit. “Ugh. _Ow. _The blazing flames...why am I sore? I've slept on cave floors before.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“I was exploring,” The brunette said brightly. He glanced out the window, admiring the early sunrise for a moment before getting to his feet. “I spent all afternoon wandering all over that cliff, got kidnapped by a mama wyvern and found the lost emerald crown!” Dimitri must have given him a baffled look, because he chuckled and explained, “baby wyverns like shiny things, so it happens more often then you'd think.”

Claude started toward the door, only to hesitate with one hand on the latch. Dimitri took a step closer, wondering if someone was in the hall-

-and jumped slightly when Claude twisted and kissed him again, quickly but fiercely. “For luck,” He said teasingly before slipping out of the room.

Dimitri stood still for a moment as Claude's quiet footsteps faded away. “Luck...” He murmured as warmth spread through him. “I suppose so.” Feeling himself smile, he turned around to prepare for the day...it was still quite early, but he was in the habit of waking with the sun.

One hot bath and change of clothes later, Dimitri stepped out of his room, glancing warily back in forth – part of him was expecting and _dreading _to see Sylvain standing and staring at him with a mixture of awe, envy and bewilderment. (Because if Sylvain found out, the rest of Garreg Mach would find out in very short order, and then what the in the eternal flames would he do?) Mercifully the hallway was indeed empty; the door to Claude's room was closed. _Perhaps he's still tired, after lying on my floor all night. I wouldn't be surprised. _

Dimitri placed a hand on the wood for a moment, listening for several moments for any sound or movement. It was pretty much quiet except for the occasional soft sound of pages turning. _Or he's reading. I suppose I should have seen that coming._ With a small half smile the prince turned and made his way down the hall.

Making his way down to the training hall was a force of habit; he'd long since started using practice as a way to pass the hours and distract himself when his sleep was interrupted. Even when his dreams were relatively benign there was something comforting about picking up the lance and going through the motions. The quiet that blanketed the monastery in the early mornings was both a bit eerie and rather comforting; only some of the servants were up and about, and he recognized many of them at this point.

It wasn't until he walked through the partly open doors that he saw, and heard, something unexpected...

* * *

“...the people at Remire. You said you ran away from them.”

Lysithea's voice gave Dimitri pause. The prince slowed and came to a stop in the hallway that lead into the main arena, standing partly concealed behind a pillar as he took the scene in. His eyes widened a bit when he saw not just Claude's white-haired classmate, but the person she was talking to. The black-haired girl was still wearing the long overcoat from Remire, but beneath it more casual clothes were visible. She wore both her swords despite the fact that the monastery was safe.

Glenn spoke easily about Atra; called her a friend. He explained how the girl had dragged him out of the fire, hidden him and convinced a back alley hotel owner to care for him until she returned with a family member. And while that ultimately didn't happen (_because Duscur happened, because she'd rushed ahead and saved a few lives while he uselessly tried to argue with the lords at home_) she returned when he woke from his coma and made him her partner when he desperately sought out direction.

Yet Glenn had been very reluctant to talk about the Duscur Incident beyond that and the fact that none of the assassins were from Duscur. He couldn't – _or perhaps wouldn't _(but no that couldn't be right-) – even explain why Atra was there to begin with. Dimitri hadn't had the chance to go and ask her about that night; his own bad memories aside, he'd been to determined to stay with Glenn, hoping beyond hope that somehow doing so could help him _remember_.

Now it seemed that...Lysithea had found her first...but what in Fodlan for?

“Yes,” Atra said a little hesitantly. She was standing with her back to a pillar; her posture suggested she felt a bit cornered. “Is there something in particular you want to know? I may not have the answers you seek, but I'll do my best.”

Lysithea lowered her head for a moment, then pointedly looked around the room. She missed Dimitri due to him being mostly hidden behind a pillar; but apart from him, there was nothing but silence and the chirping of birds. “There is something,” The white haired girl said, serious as the dead of winter. “It's about...something that happened a long time ago.”

Atra nodded slowly. Lysithea paused, then began to pace back and forth. Her every step was agitated, her arms crossed over her stomach and fingers digging into her sides. “When To – when Solon was asked why he poisoned the Remire villagers, he said that he could have preformed his experiments anywhere. So – this, this is something he's done before? Testing some, some sort of...performance enhancer on humans?” She shook her head. “Thinking about those villagers who went mad...they fought without any concern for themselves or any injuries they took...they weren't fighters, they weren't even properly equipped, but if you gave that drug to a battalion of hardened soldiers...”

The sentence hung heavily in the air.

“It's possible,” Atra said, tugging at one of her sleeves. “Though honestly, I wouldn't rule out the possibility of him doing it just to indulge his sick curiosity.”

“I guess,” Lysithea's voice dropped an octave. Dimitri had a strong sense that he shouldn't be listening in on this, but the clear and obvious strain in her voice struck a chord that froze his feet to the floor. “Though what I'm asking is...he does that? Experiments meant to 'improve' humanity?”

Dimitri's clenched his fists tightly at Atra's tired nod. _Breathe, calm down, don't interfere, _he thought as he leaned against the pillar to try and center himself.

“Yes.” The black haired girl shivered. “I can't say for certain, but I believe he's been working on such projects for a very long time.”

For a moment Lysithea stood ramrod still. Then...then she slumped. “Then that's the reason.”

“The reason for what?”

The white haired girl tilted her head. “The Professor said that they took your mother away when you were little.” Atra flinched at the remark. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to chase a few stray tears away. Dimitri's heart ached with sympathy. “You never found out what they did to her or even why. Does that keep you up at night sometimes...like it does for me?”

He saw Atra take a startled step backward at the question. Meanwhile the prince was fairly certain his chest seized up for a second. _Lysithea...you were-?!_

“They came into our house with the 'auditors'.” Lysithea's voice was distant. She didn't seem to be looking at the mysterious renegade in that moment; her eyes slid over cold stone and the weapon racks, tracking a memory only she could see. “After my family got mixed up in the attempted rebellion at Hrym.” Atra shook her head a bit. “You don't know-? Right, of course. It's not important anyway.”

“For the longest time, I assumed they were hatchet men from the Empire. That it was some sort of sick punishment for supporting Hyrm. But when I saw Solon and his allies in Remire – saw their skin and their clothes – I remembered details that had gotten hazy after...everything.” Lysithea's head lowered. “He was practicing on us. Learning. Perfecting a technique. ...I can't believe he was here for months and I didn't recognize him.”

“Thales and Solon had long since had the ability to impersonate others.” Atra said, almost as an afterthought as she examined Lysithea with an expression somewhere between dawning understanding and dread. “You – he experimented on you? On your family?”

A moment of silence.

Dimitri's vision blurred red for a moment when Lysithea nodded without a word and the world faded a bit as he slid to the ground, his back to the pillar as he struggled to _breathe. _

_It wasn't just father, wasn't enough to kill him and my childhood companions – I kill them – I'll kill all of them –! _

“I can't-no, I believe it. I'm so, so sorry...”

“Why are you apologizing...you weren't there, I remember that. I don't think I could forget their faces if I tried.” Lysithea's tone was quiet and stiff, but there was no malice there – not toward Atra, at least. “I just want to know...if you know _why_.” Her voice cracked on the last word, wobbling on the verge of tears she nevertheless held back. “What did they _buy_ with Kyo's life? With Sonia and Zavier and Maya's lives?”

“...I'm sorry, I only have a theory...I was a foot soldier, then a spy; I only know what I've overheard...” Atra pushed off the pillar, one hand hovering as though she wanted to touch Lysithea comfortingly but didn't think she had the right to. “It's about the Flame Emperor.”

“Him? When you talked to him, you acted like he wasn't an Agarthan. Who is he?”

“He – or she, I suppose, I've never seen underneath that mask – was born on the surface. Not just born; he lived here, grew up here, and frankly considers himself superior to the Agarthans he's met and gotten involved with.” Atra snorted. “He thinks he can usurp Thales's plan to conquer Fodlan for himself. It doesn't matter what Agartha does to his people in the meantime; it's all a means to an end. He's a traitor unlike any other and _scum_ of the worst kind.”

_He'll die for it, _Dimitri thought, bracing his arms against his legs. His vision was still hazy and crimson; he didn't dare get up – or really do anything other than focus on breathing evenly and keep his mind in the present. _They will pay for everything they've done; to Duscur, to Lysithea, to me, if it's the last thing I do before I die!_

“I knew that when I saw him brush off what happened to Remire,” Lysithea muttered. “But what does he have to do with me?” A second later, the white-haired girl stiffened. “Hang on...you called him Thales's pet. Are you saying that he-or-she was groomed for this role?”

Atra nodded again. “Thales likes to remind the 'Flame Emperor' that it was he who 'empowered' him with 'defiled beast's blood'; that he was their greatest success. And if there was a way to make human beings more powerful, Solon would have had to have made – previous attempts – to ensure an optimal success.” The renegade drew circles in the dirt with her foot, trying to siphon off energy. “I can't prove it, but my supposition is that...he wanted to see if he could perfect the process.”

“...” For a long moment Lysithea said nothing. It gave Dimitri a chance to finally get his breathing under control and blink his vision clear; he was a little shaky, but he wasn't about to do something he'd end up regretting. “I see.”

Her voice was remote and colder than the worst northern winters on record.

“Hey Atra,” Lysithea's tone didn't change an iota. “You might wanna join us proper, because if I get to Shamballa first, I'm not going to leave you anything to step on.”

“That sounds fair,” Atra responded.

Lysithea expelled a long breath, dropped her arms to her sides and gave her head a shake. “Thanks for that...it's been eating at me since we came back.” She turned on her heel and paused. “Do you want to come and get breakfast with us? Ashe and Dedue are working in the kitchen, and serving omlettes this morning. They're really good.”

“Ah...thank you, but I'm expected down in Abyss...I've been helping Yuri get decent meals down there since the chalice incident.”

“Well, if you're sure. Tell Constance good morning for me if you see her.”

With that, Lysithea left the training hall, turmoil pouring off her like heavy rain. Atra winced as the doors swung shut behind the younger girl and slumped a bit; slowly she raised a shaking hand and swiped feebly at her eyes. Her breathing was ragged and pained; there was grief there, soft but audible. (_Sothis knew that Dimitri was familiar with that sound._)

“You can come out now, your highness,” She called out softly.

Dimitri started. For a brief moment he thought that Edelgard had entered the room at some point; but after a few moments there was no other response. _She saw me...? _Hesitantly he pushed himself to his feet and slowly walked around the pillar. Atra was standing, hands by her side, looking at him from underneath strands of black hair that had fallen in front of her face. Her hair wasn't tied back like it usually was...in fact she generally looked disheveled and upset... _Do nightmares keep you awake as well...?_

“I'm so sorry,” He said, a mix of shame and embarrassment swamping him as he realized what he'd just done. “I had no right to intrude – I don't know what came over me; I should have left right away--”

“You were worried about her, weren't you?” Atra tilted her head a bit. “Glenn did that once...I tried to leave him at a hospital while going off to confront an Agarthan sleeper agent I'd found...but he followed me and overheard us arguing about the lives of surface – I'm sorry, of the Kingdom soldiers.” She sighed at the memory. “He jumped in to help me because he didn't want me to suffer the struggle alone. Can you believe that?”

Dimitri let out a soft laugh, unable to help a small smile. “Even struck with amnesia, he was still himself...” He said in wonder. “Glenn was always a very selfless person.”

“I've seen him a few times since arriving, but he keeps insisting he's fine...” Atra frowned, brushing her hair aside. “How is he really?”

“Troubled.” The prince responded simply. Atra hung her head slightly, though she didn't seem surprised at the admission. “Which reminds me...I really should have said it earlier.” He bowed his head. “Thank you for saving him that night. I'm so grateful to you.”

He missed the full-body flinch Atra experienced in response to that. “Th-there's no need...it was the barest decent thing I could do at the time. He was the only person I saved.”

“Still,” Dimitri insisted, straightening up. “I spent four years thinking he was dead...knowing that another person aside from me survived that night is a weight off of my soul.” A thought struck him as he said that. “What brought you to Duscur that night? For you to have followed a military expedition that far from everything familiar...”

“That's...”

The ringing of the church bell interrupted them. For a moment Dimitri thought that somehow it was the summons for class – despite the fact that this was a Sunday. Then as the tolls increased in frequency and in volume, he froze on the spot.

That was the alarm. A warning of _invasion_.

“What's happening?” Atra asked, reading his expression. She tensed and dropped one hand to the hilt of a sword.

“Something's wrong,” Dimitri said shortly. Cursing himself for not having a weapon on hand, he said, “I need to find my classmates. Will you-?”

“Ah-” Atra swallowed hard, hesitating for a moment before grabbing the large hood attached to her cloak and pulling it over her head. It was at least one size too big for her, and it cast a shadow over her face that made her skin look several shades darker than it actually was. “No, please lead the way.”

Dimitri didn't hesitate, his question driven firmly from his mind as the two of them sprinted to the doors and forced their way out of the hall.

The roaring of Demonic Beasts rent all thought but fight or flight to ribbons – no matter how far away you were.

* * *

Dimitri rushed into the Entrance Hall which was currently in a state of controlled chaos. Byleth, Alois, Jeralt and Claude were at the head of a panicked crowd of civilians and merchants; Seteth was shouting and trying to maintain order while the few Knights of Serios – including Gilbert – were arming themselves in a disorganized rush. When he made his way over to Byleth's side, he saw Yuri running toward the back of the monastery for a moment before he shimmered and disappeared in a flare of Crest light.

“There you are,” Glenn said in relief as the two of them skidded to a halt a few feet away from where the sleep-deprived but completely alert Blue Lions were waiting at the top of the stairs. He slung a lance off of his shoulder and tossed it one-handed over to him; the prince nodded in gratitude as he caught it before swinging his gaze over his friends.

None of them were hurt, thank Sothis.

“What's happening?” Dimitri asked hurriedly. “How am I hearing Demonic Beasts this close to the monastery?”

“No one _knows _how!” Felix said through gritted teeth. “All we _know _is that the monastery is surrounded by over a dozen of them – six out front, six out back – that appeared right out of Sothis-damned nowhere mere _minutes _ago. They're attacking anyone not fast enough to get out of the way.”

Dimitri heard Atra suck in a sharp breath.

“A number of the upper class men are missing,” Dedue added, sounding _much _calmer than anyone else felt at the moment.”Sir Jeralt thinks that they are trapped in the back yards where we fought the Empire mercenaries. The Professor is currently arguing with Sir Alois that she and the Deer spearhead the defense against those monsters.”

“The monastery's short-handed; Lady Rhea and Sir Catherine haven't returned from their visit to the Eastern Church yet.” Ashe fretted, fingering his bow. “Only Sir Gilbert and and his men are still available, and that's not enough for the number of beasts.”

“Then we'll fight,” Dimitri said immediately. He glanced back at Byleth, who had stepped around Alois with purpose in her clenched fists. He wasn't certain, but he could have sworn he saw a flare of increasingly familiar golden-green light in her eyes. “Where are Edelgard and the Black Eagles? Are they safe?”

“They're guarding the orphans and fishermen in the dining hall; the princess was the second person to raise the alarm.” Sir Jeralt said as he walked toward them. He was a step behind Byleth, who's expression was frozen in grim concentration. “Have you ever fought a Demonic Beast before, your highness?”

“Once,” He allowed, remembering that incident with a slight shiver. It had been a few months before he became a student at the officer's academy; he and his guards had been attacked on the road. “And I was inexperienced then.”

Felix rolled his shoulder and Dimitri saw his eyes dart toward Byleth. Glenn noticed the look too; his eyes fell on the prince with a questioning air. Felix noticed this and frowned, muttering 'later'. “We can handle a beast,” The younger Fraldaruis growled. “Just point us at them, old man.”

Glenn made a small exasperated noise.

“They can come,” Byleth said flatly, giving him a meaningful look. There was concern in her ocean-blue eyes, but confidence as well, and he felt that there was more of the latter than the former. Warmth sparked inside his chest. _You're not going without me, _he said silently. “We need all hands on deck; Sir Alois, go and make sure that Edelgard and the others have that area secured, help them if they get blindsided.”

The words were so much a stern order that the jolly knight didn't question them at all before rushing to obey her. Jeralt's eyebrows shot up for a moment; he gave his daughter a bemused look before refocusing on the problem. “With your permission, Seteth?” He called pointedly.

Seteth paused from giving orders to Gilbert and the knights to regard the Deer and Lions. He gave Flayn, standing tall between Ignatz and Raphael, an agonized look as he struggled between his innate protectiveness of her and his need to defend the monastery. Flayn caught this and stared back fiercely in turn – communicating her resolve without a single word spoken. “Very well,” The green-haired man said after a moment. “Protect the monastery and save the students if at all possible!”

“It will be,” Byleth muttered. “Everyone, with me. Yuri will be waiting with a status report.”

The Golden Deer roared in determination – literally roared, their voices blending together. Dimitri couldn't help but jump a bit. For a moment he felt like he was standing in front of a squad of the fiercest knights from home. Even timid Bernadetta had a sharp and fearless expression on her face.

“You coming, Atra?” Claude asked in a low voice, one eye on the cloaked girl. Did he looked a little concerned?

Atra nodded. Seteth looked over the group; perhaps he was imagining things, but he thought the older man stared at the renegade for a moment before shaking his head and looking away – muttering something he had no hope of hearing over the general din.

He wasn't given time to think about it, anyway – Byleth was running full tilt toward six demonic beasts, and his place was at her side.

* * *

The Demonic Beast's screeching was almost a physical force in the wind when they burst into the familiar ruin-filled yard. Mere seconds after they appeared, Yuri appeared out of thin air a few feet away from them, a bloody but still breathing senior girl slung over his shoulder. “We've got over two dozen dead,” he reported. His face was a mask of icy composure. “I've seen nine survivors clustered in a corner there, there and there-” He pointed to three of the makeshift yard's corners. “-but none of them are armed aside from the mages. And a few of the beasts have their scent.”

Byleth said a few words in a Dagda dialect that made Cyril sputter. Dimitri didn't feel very inclined to chastise her, though. The sight in front of them would make anyone curse...

Three beasts prowled the grounds directly ahead of them, snarling and tearing at the ground. They were neither wolves nor hawks...they weren't even the reptilian type that were notoriously hard to slay, even by hardened knights. He'd never seen anything like this, not in any of his books. They were bigger than the wolves but more slender...their heads were long and elongated, with blazing red light coming from the tips of their noses. Their legs were thick but long compared to their torsos, claws like massive scythes the length of each of the toes they protruded from. There were spikes sprouting from their tails and from along their spines; their scales were like black stone with streams of lava running between them.

“What are those?” Mercedes asked weakly.

Atra let out a noise halfway between a snarl and a sob. She was spared from having to answer by Glenn, who's expression had snapped into a hate-filled glare. “More of Solon's work, and _no_, you don't want to know how he did it.” The blue-haired amnesiac spat. “Be careful, they can and will attack at a distance or in packs.”

Byleth snarled low in her throat. “Claude, take Yuri, Balthus, Marianne, Ashe and Lorenz to the corner closest to us.” She snapped her hand to the right. “If you can kill the beast, kill it, but your priority is saving the other students and not getting ambushed by the other beasts.” She pointed to a stone high rise directly in front of them. “Constance, Bernadetta, I want you up there. Don't worry, we'll keep their attention off of you! Your job is to snipe the beasts; annoy and disable them as much as you can. Hapi, you're with me.”

The redhead winced. Byleth turned towards her and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Don't worry. I'll protect you.” Hapi blinked at her, lips slightly parted in an aborted response. Byleth didn't seem to notice this; instead she turned toward him. “Dimitri, take Dedue, Mercedes, Felix, Raphael and Cyril up the pathway there while Claude and the others have that beast distracted. Your job is the same – prioritize rescuing the students, kill the beast cornering them if possible. Ingrid, I want you up in the air; help with rescue efforts and keep track of what the beasts are doing. Flayn...” She closed her eyes for a moment as she thought about how best to handle this. “Now that you've learned Fortify, I want you up on the roof with Constance and Bernadetta. Your job is to keep everyone healed and to Rescue others whenever possible.”

“I understand.” Flayn said without a hint of fear. Her expression was serious and a little sad; _what is she thinking right now? _Well, she didn't feel the need to speak it – instead she rushed off with the two older girls to take her position.

“Sylvain, you brought the Lance?” Byleth asked calmly.

“Of course Professor,” The redhead responded in an unusually serious voice. He slung the Lance of Ruin off of his shoulder; his horse nickered uneasily, turning its head away from the blade. Sylvain patted the animal reassuringly on its flank, not looking very surprised by the reaction.

“Good.” His professor drew the Sword of the Creator. Dimitri blinked, seeing a flicker of green-gold light in the empty hole above the handle. _It's comforting to know Sothis is with us. _“Lysithea, Annette...father, Sylvain, Atra, Glenn and I are going to engage the beasts directly ahead. Hapi is going to confuse and slow them down, we're going to hold their attention...and you're going to do whatever you can to put them _down. _Got it?”

“Got it,” Annette promised. Lysithea, eyes burning with a rage no one had seen in her before, nodded.

“Then go, and be careful!” Byleth didn't give anyone a chance to dispute her plan; she ran ahead with the sword in one hand.

Ingrid's hand snaked out and snagged Glenn's wrist, causing him to pause. For a moment it looked like she wanted to take his place, but all she said was, “I'll come and join you as soon as possible.” Then she ran and mounted her pegasus.

Glenn looked pained and a little buoyed at those words; then he rushed after Atra and Hapi.

Dimitri gave his head a firm shake and gestured to his group before drawing his lance. “Is everyone ready?”

“Not really,” Ignatz admitted a little shakily. “But we don't really have a choice!”

“What are we waiting for?” Felix demanded harshly. He wasn't looking at Dimitri; he was watching Glenn until his brother disappeared behind the rubble near the three patrolling beasts.

Knowing they couldn't afford to wait, Dimitri watched Claude lead his group across the field in a flash despite feeling a lump in his throat. He pushed down the desire to stay with at his trickster's side, (_he can take care of himself, he's fought more demonic beasts than me at this point_) instead waiting on baited breath as Yuri threw an Aura blast at the head of the beast hovering in front of the corner. Where it was standing, it was blocking off both the far pathway to the back of the area the other students were trapped at while also trapping its prey in a dead end.

The white light spell hit it square in the side of the face, causing it to shriek in rage. Claude gestured sharply; as he strung an arrow, Yuri once again vanished in a flicker of Crest light as their opponent swung around to face them. Ashe rushed up to Claude's side; they both fired at its face, then retreated as the demonic beast stalked toward them, maw unhinging in a very unnatural way.

_Be careful Claude!; _Dimitri begged silently as they took the opportunity offered to rush through the opening provided, mere meters away from the hulking beast who recoiled from the Blizzard spell smashing into its legs. Marianne cast the spell again and then again from behind Balthus, her face set in a dark mask; the blows stuck at the feet causing frost and ice to momentarily stick the front legs to the ground.

Forcing himself to turn his back on Claude – to go and fulfill his role rather than stay and ensure the brunette was _safe, _to _leave him behind –_was physically painful.

The screaming from the upperclassmen trapped ahead of them did remind him of his current priorities, at least.

They ran a dozen yards before finding themselves facing the back of a monster prowling toward the corner of the area; Dimitri could just see past it to the bushes that the bleeding and wounded students were cowering. Across from them – toward the middle – was a maelstrom of magic, the roaring of enraged beasts, and the tangible power of the Relic Weapons. He desperately wanted to check on Byleth, but he knew she wouldn't be pleased if he let himself get distracted.

_Sothis will protect her._

“Dedue,” Dimitri said shortly, holding his hand out. His friend, recognizing the gesture and his tone of voice, immediately handed him a short spear. Exhaling to clear his mind, Dimitri summoned the power of his crest and let it flow freely into the weapon.

Then he threw it directly at the monster's back.

The Crest flared and then vanished as the spear tore through through the scales, spines and flesh that made up the creatures upper back; the beast screeched in pain, staggering and swinging its head around to see its tormentor. Dimitri spun his lance in one hand while Dedue raised his fists and took on an offensive stance.

There wasn't time to wonder how so many Demonic Beasts had come so close to the monastery. All they could – and would – do was save their fellow students.

“Ready or not!” Annette shouted. “Sagitte!” The whispy arrow spell flew across the ground, whipped past Dedue and slammed into the beast's left flank. Moments later, the ground shook as Bolting crashed down from the sky again; Ignatz bent his bow and lined up a jagged-head arrow that Dimitri recognized as an anti-beast head. His hands were shaking a bit; when he fired, he didn't manage to hit it straight in the chest like he had clearly hoped to; but he did hit it, carving a wide gouge into its right front leg.

However that wasn't enough to stop its charge. Dedue was ready, however; he caught its retaliatory swipe on his gauntlets raised above his head. Mercedes gasped in horror and quickly rushed to his aide, throwing Bolganone at the beast's neck. Felix shot forward and added his own Crest-boosted attack in the wake of her spell; the barrier covering the creature's chest cracked and broke -

– but didn't shatter entirely!

“Damn it!” Felix swore. He threw himself to the side, rolling out of the way of the beast's tail. It smashed into the ground where he'd stood; the impact threw up an immense amount of dust and made the ground tremble. Fortunately, it had moved its attention away from Dedue, so he could escape its grasp without harm.

Annette wasn't deterred, casting the arrow spell again while aiming at the injuries they had created so far. Dimitri smiled darkly, swung his lance and grabbed Ignatz's shoulder. The bespectacled archer jumped a bit; the prince pointed unerringly at where the other students were still hiding. “O-Oh – I understand. Right!” Stringing another arrow, Ignatz rushed past him and behind some rubble between him and their quarry; he fired another shot, this one steadier, and the other front leg before continuing to run.

_These beasts are different...more resilient? More powerful, perhaps? It can't be a coincidence that we're seeing them so soon after the Remire Calamity..._

_What are you planning, Solon?! Thales?! If you show your face here...I'll destroy you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, Atra and Lysithea got to talk! I'm tempted to write up some support conversations for both her and Glenn; they would go under the series tag in a separate fic if I get to that. As a matter of fact, I've been thinking about how I would include Atra into the main game itself - she would be an automatic recruit on Verdent Wind and Silver Snow, an optional one for Azure Moon (details pending...) and would refuse to join in Crimson Flower - Edelgard's paralogue would be dedicated to protecting her from Atra's assassination attempt and actually forcing Edelgard to question whether or not she actually knows best. 
> 
> Glenn meanwhile would be an automatic recruit for Azure Moon and Silver Snow, optional for Verdent Wind, and would refuse to join in Crimson Flower. 
> 
> I'm happy with Dimitri's inner monologue for this chapter. Notice anything different about it? 
> 
> (sigh) This fight is hard to make interesting, because it's just a bunch of demonic beasts. I'm doing my best by upping the ante and having more of them storming around, and making a note of how different these particular types are from the three...I hesitate to call them 'normal'; I guess the 'non-artificial' demonic beasts.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude sees how Agartha is willing to go up close and personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I've ever made my readers cry before. Time to see if I can, I guess.

“Whoashit!”

Claude really, really missed Ivory. That was true most days, but the feeling was particularly intense as he very narrowly dodged the tail lash that would have smashed him into a stone wall and likely shattered all his bones on impact. Rolling back to his feet he grabbed an arrow off the ground; “my moment has arrived,” He murmured mostly to himself before shooting the beast's hind leg.

He finally managed to hit a muscle, because the beast screeched painfully and reared back. Balthus, proving once and for all that he was as bold as he was boisterous, charged straight at the monster with light blazing through his gauntlets. “Baltie!,” Hilda yelled in worry. Balthus pulled one arm back; moments later the barrier surrounding the creature _shattered _with an earsplitting crackle as he slammed both fists into its chest. A split second later Yuri appeared, grabbed the back of his big friend's coat, and teleported them both away right before the beast slammed its upper body down in an attempt to crush them.

“Hilda, be ready!” Claude yelled as he climbed up the crumbling stone wall he'd nearly been thrown into. _If I had Ivory I could fly circles around this thing. Remind me, genius, why you decided to fudge your riding results again?! _“It's turning your way!”

“I know!” The pinkette called. Once he was up on his new vantage point, Claude could properly see into the corner the demonic beast was prowling around; Hilda and Lorenz were standing weapons in hand in front of the remaining two upperclassmen that they still had to save. He vaguely recognized them from hours spent in the library; the girl's ribs were either cracked or straight-up broken judging by her body language while the guy was unconscious from a head wound. _Hopefully he's unconscious, anyway... _Ashe was running in and out of the stone ruins around them, taking shots at the beast whenever he had an opening. Marianne had climbed a stone wall on the far side; she had taken to using Blizzard to limit the creature's mobility by freezing its legs, then hitting it with Thoron. There were multiple large blast holes in the beast's back – all her work – and its magical barrier was finally broken. Balthus swung back around, throwing pnuema gale at the beast's back and successfully hitting one of the craters Marianne had created.

The beast screamed again; Claude flinched, something crawling up his spine at the sound. It was _wrong, _even moreso than the usual sounds demonic beasts made. But why...?

Its head swung his way. Cursing, Claude drew two arrows, fired, and then jumped down. The arrows hit the neck as the creature reared its head back; despite the new wound and black blood spurting onto the ground, the beast still crashed down again and breathed out a massive ball of fire. It smashed his former perch into rubble, melting it into slag in the process; Claude was close enough to feel the smoldering heat against his skin. _That was close! _

Yuri appeared behind Hilda and Lorenz in another flash of light. The girl waved him toward her friend despite her own injury; the violet-haired boy knelt and examined him with a sort of calm that one would expect in a calm hospital wing – not from someone less than a dozen yards away from a pissed off demonic beast. Yuri radiated cool confidence, however.

He knew the beast was on its last legs.

Black blood was pouring out of the beast's jaw. It sizzled and boiled when it splashed onto the ground; the roars had broken down to muted and chopped-off snarls as its head whipped between its various tormentors. As Claude and Ashe both took shots at its head, hoping to take the eyes out, it ran in a circle and whined in frustration.

That's when Claude saw something strange and horrific. As the black blood continued to pour out of the beast...it was slowly turning bright red; painfully familiar-looking rivers of blood soaking its scales and fur.

_What the hell? _

“It's going down!” Hilda yelled in triumph, grabbing one of her axes from where it had fallen earlier. “Baltie, give me a hand!”

“Coming right up!” The king of grappling laughed. The beast tried to refocus on him, but Ashe and Marianne were too fast for it, barraging it with arrows and Nosferatu from different directions. Hilda pointed the ax at her opponent for a moment, smirked and then ran directly forward while Lorenz yelled after her in confused protest. Claude waved at him to stay put before drawing again, watching Balthus cross the yard and kneel on the ground. Hilda bounded forward and jumped over him; Balthus grabbed her feet and gave her a massive boost.

Letting out a war cry, Hilda swung the glowing green ax down with all her might on the neck. There was a gurgling crack and tearing noise as the blade tore straight through the limb, severing the elongated head from the body. The beast's body gave out, shaking the ground as it collapsed. Hilda landed neatly on two feet and straightened up, twirling her ax smugly as she turned to her old friend. “Well? What do you think?” She asked brightly.

Balthus let out a laugh. “You've definitely grown up, Hilda.” Then his brow furrowed. “Wait, huh-?”

Hilda blinked before a crackling behind her made her spin around. Claude walked forward as the demonic beast's body rotted and then crumbled into ash and dust, slowly blown away by the wind. Leaving behind a number of charred bones and-

The pinkette gagged and spun around – away from the sight. Her ax clattered to the ground as she violently threw up, Balthus quickly catching her hair and pulling it away from her face.

_More of Solon's work, and no, you don't want to know how he did it, _Glenn's voice rang in Claude's ears as he stared numbly down at the mangled, headless corpse of a teenager nestled within the monster bones – several of which were sticking out from his/her limbs. There was so much reddish-black blood, gore and dust surrounding them that he almost couldn't recognize what they were wearing – but he could still just barely recognize the officer's academy uniform.

_Is there no end to the twisted, fucked up shit they have in store for us?, _the young prince wondered bleakly as rage, horror and disgust warred inside of him. He didn't have time to wonder, though. There was still furious roaring filling the air.

“Yuri, how are they?” He asked without turning around. He kept his voice calm and firm, and internally marveled at how much that made him sound like his father.

“He's concussed and she needs Manuela to fully fix up her ribs, but they'll both live.” Claude heard Yuri standing up. “I'll drop them off at the monastery entrance.”

“Good. We're not done monster hunting yet.”

“Claude...” Ashe started unhappily, but as the brunette twisted to look at him, the younger boy simply trailed off and stared at the body that had once been their opponent. Marianne had slipped over to his side, her hands clasped in prayer while tears trickled down her cheeks.

“I know,” Claude exhaled sharply. “Unfortunately...I think this is the only thing we can do for them now – send them off to Sothis.” _Like we did with Miklan...but these weren't bandits and murderers. Their only crime was being in someone's way._

“He's right,” Marianne said softly. Her breath hitched a bit at the words; her eyes were very distant. “It would be kinder to die than live such a terrible and twisted existence as a monster. There is mercy in death, rarely seen, but always present.” The words were sincere and well-worn.

_...Marianne... _“C'mon, we have to hurry.” _I'll ask you about that later. _“If you've got a damaged weapon, ditch it and switch over.”

Claude ran for the ruin building that Bernadetta, Constance and Flayn were perched on. Mercifully none of them were harmed, though it looked like his sister was starting to get low on arrows and Constance's shoulders were stooped with exertion. Flayn was upright and raised one hand in the air; there was a great flare of light green light, and a wonderful blanket of magic washed over and surrounded him. It reminded him of Mercedes's Crest when she'd pulled an arrow out of his shoulder back at Conand Tower; perfect comfort and security and the utter absence of any pain. _Fortify. So that's the Major Cethleann Crest..._

“We've cleaned up! What's going on over there?!” He yelled upward, unstrapping his secondary quiver and throwing it upward. Bernadetta snatched it out of the air and waved at him before slinging it over her shoulder, ditching her old one.

“Captain Jeralt and Professor Byleth are keeping the two monsters in the center pinned in the center with the help of the others,” Flayn reported as Constance raised her hand to the sky again. Thunder rumbled and the air cracked as Bolting crashed down to the far right of the clearing. “However, one of the beasts broke off and is attempting to approach the students hiding in the right corner. Sir Glenn is keeping it occupied, but-”

“-it takes at least three for these guys,” Claude finished. “Got it. How's Teach? Dimitri? The others?” Long practice kept the depths of his worry out of his voice.

“I am keeping everyone healed and healthy,” Flayn responded confidently. “Please hurry!”

“On our way.” The tightness in his chest eased just a bit. It was silly; Dimitri was as safe as he'd ever be with Dedue nearby, and Teach went without saying. But he couldn't help himself. Adjusting his half-filled quiver, Claude took off across the open pathway in a sprint; out of the corner of his eye he saw a blinding light slash across the air followed by a howl of agony, along with Jeralt shouting orders at Sylvain. Nodding to himself as Ashe and Marianne caught up and began to flank him, Claude put on a burst of speed and turned the corner to the far pathway.

He was just in time to see Glenn narrowly roll out of the way of a massive fireball spat at him. He was back on his feet in one smooth motion, turning and slashing the limb raised to swat him aside, carving it open. Black blood spattered the amnesiac knight, earning half-a-dozen curses in old Fodlanese but not making him stop. He dodged around the beast's flailing paws; black blood was dripping down its face from – unless his eyes were playing tricks on him – the bloody wounds were its _eyes _had used to be. _You did that by yourself? So that's what Felix meant when he said you had no equal. _

“Heads up!” Claude yelled, taking aim. Glenn shot a glance over his shoulder and then moved with blinding quickness; leaving him out of way when the brunette shot the creature's chest with two arrows. It roared and staggered backward. Glenn was on the move even as Ashe followed up with attacks aimed at the creature's head; pale blue light flashed as his crest activated and tore chunks into the creature's chest.

Claude flinched at the blows; he wasn't sure if he admired how resolved Glenn was to putting the beast out of its misery or a little put off. _He knew what they were – how they were made. How many of these have he and Atra seen? Needed to put down? _

“Blizzard!” Marianne staggered a bit after casting the spell; the beast's head was promptly encased in an ice block and crashed to the ground. Ashe was at her side even faster than Hilda; when Claude glanced over his shoulder, he noted that her face was pale and edging towards gray. “Ah, I'm a-alright. I, I think that's my last ice spell for this battle...I'm sorry...”

“Don't apologize, just take care of yourself!” Claude hadn't meant to snap, but the look on her face was giving him bad flashbacks to darkened tunnels and Byleth coughing up blood. “Lean on Ashe for now; Hilda-”

“Way ahead of you,” The pinkette promised, patting Marianne on the shoulder as she passed her by. Balthus also looked a little worried; he gave Claude a look that silently asked if he should carry the priestess off the battlefield. The brunette shook his head; she wasn't as bad off as he'd seen Constance a few times yet and doing so would leave Balthus himself as their sole healer aside from Flayn's ground-covering spell.

He didn't have time for much other than to give Marianne a reassuring smile before whirling on his heel and running to cover near Glenn. Hilda threw a hand ax at the beast's shoulder – somehow it had retained consciousness long enough to smash its head against a wall to break the ice encasing it. _A bit too smart for a beast. Is that why Solon-? _His temper spiked every time that realization turned on him. _Where are the other-? There. _

As Balthus, Hilda and Lorenz – the latter soot covered and frazzled from a fireball that would have cooked him alive if not for Glenn yanking him out of the way – surrounding the creature and began wearing down the rest of its resistance, he scanned the field. After a minute, his eyes fell on a bush in the corner that was partially pulled down. Cowering in the foliage were a pair of students; they were too far away for him to determine how injured either were, but they were moving about – trying to get his attention, no doubt.

A flash of light next to him and a hand on his shoulder made him relax ever so slightly. “Can you keep going?” He asked, glancing up at Yuri. He'd been using his Crest's power almost nonstop since their arrival to get the injured students out and back to Manuela.

“They're going to have to do worse than this to break me,” Yuri responded evenly. Claude raised an eyebrow; the violet-eyed teen didn't _look _pale, nor was he showing any signs of exertion. Deciding to trust him, he nodded and pointed an arrow at the bush.

“We've got this covered,” He promised. Yuri flashed him a perfect yet also genuine smile before vanishing in a flash. Seconds later he reappeared right next to the bush and knelt down, one hand offered in assistance.

Claude smirked and turned to the monster again. Glenn had climbed up on his back while Balthus grabbed the head and forcibly pulled it down toward the ground; Hilda chopped at the neck with her ax before the son of Faerghus ran forward and brought his sword down, cutting through the remains of the distorted flesh. Black and red blood pooled on the ground as the body began to disintegrate; Glenn jumped off and walked in a circle around the vanishing body, flicking the blood off of his sword.

When the body of the student appeared, Glenn knelt and moved the head back to the body. He gently and carefully closed the corpse's eyes with his fingers; then he murmured something that sounded like a prayer before standing again.

Thunder rolled, and the rain began to fall. As if the heavens were opening to wash the monastery of all that tainted blood.

Glenn's eyes were shadowed by his hair. Claude didn't need to see them, however, the feel the mingled anger and grief radiating off of him. Marianne approached him slowly and murmured something the brunette didn't catch; Glenn made an abortive gesture that reeked of tired regret. _How many times have you had to do this? _

The roaring was gone; that was a relief. This mess was over with... Claude gestured to Marianne and hurried back to the bush where Yuri was.

The violet-eyed teen had coaxed the shaking, bloody upperclassmen out of the bush. Claude hissed when he saw how badly mutilated the boy's arm was, and the girl was completely unconscious from having her hand bitten off; Yuri was working on healing her, cursing the entire way. Marianne ran to his side and knelt in the bloody dirt, hands glowing.

Claude expelled a breath and glanced back at the building. He could just barely see the figures of Constance, Bernadetta and Flayn moving about. For a second, he relaxed in the belief that it was all over.

Then he heard the scream.

* * *

Grief is rarely a quiet noise.

Whenever someone is 'quiet' in their grief, most often they're suppressing it. Claude was perfectly familiar with that from a childhood in Almyra's court; mothers cried out when their children didn't return from war, husbands and wives cried out when they were handed their spouse's weapons. It was a singular expression of their pain – a call out to the heavens, meant to tell the gates to open.

Claude was of the opinion that the screams were a rail against reality, at a loss that could never be undone and a wound that would never fully heal.

Byleth's pure, desperate scream of denial and agony struck his every nerve.

She had never, _ever _made a sound like that, not even when she had been _dying_.

He didn't remember starting to run; one moment he was standing still, the next sodden dirt and stone was squelching beneath his shoes as he burst onto the plain where the three monsters had been originally. Sylvain was looking around wildly for an enemy, lance raised defensively; Bernadetta and Flayn were scrambling down from their vantage point, Dimitri appeared in a flash of gold heading their way. Claude looked around wildly before seeing a flash of black in the rain. He pivoted without stopping and ran onto the grass...

...and then he saw it...

Atra was sprawled on the ground, clutching a bloody injury in her chest that looked like it was just a few inches off of a heart shot. A strange orange glow was surrounding her, faintly reminding Claude of the magic burnout reaction from the tunnels. She didn't seem to notice him, however; she was staring stricken at the scene a few feet away from her.

Byleth was howling. Screaming. Sobbing. You'd have been forgiven for mistaking the sounds for having come from a wounded wild animal. Her whole body was shaking as she curled up on her unmoving father's chest, her head buried in his leather; as he stared, she occasionally shook him weakly, then broke down even more violently. She didn't notice him or the rain.

Jeralt didn't move as she wailed. He didn't react to the rain falling on his face. Even though he couldn't see the wound, Claude knew what that meant – even though it made no sense and his brain struggled to process it.

The rain rose from a drip to a downpour; Byleth clung tighter to her father, great heaving breaths shaking her frame. She coughed and choked on her sobs; that orange light surrounding her intensified for several seconds, then softened again. Byleth coughed again and spat out blood onto the grass; a shudder wracked her frame.

“Byleth...” Dimitri's stricken voice was what snapped him out of his shock. His prince took a hesitant step toward her, then another one, then walked to her side and knelt next to her. “Byleth...” Claude heard him search for words for a moment, then give up.

He of all people would know words were useless right now...

Claude finally forced his frozen feet to move when Marianne and Yuri appeared. The former clapped her hands over her mouth while the latter took in the sight, grimaced – not without sympathy – before heading to tend to Atra.

He fell to his knees on Byleth's other side and touched her back. She didn't respond; instead she let out another howl of grief. Claude rubbed her back, looking at Jeralt. Then he twisted over his shoulder to ask, “What happened? Keep it short.”

“Kronya and Thales happened,” Atra rasped as she sat up. Her voice broke mid-sentence. “They were trying to kill her. Made her exhaust her power throughout the attack and then tried to kill her – but he got in the way. Saved her and me. She scarred Thales but Kronya got her away.”

_Thales?! Here?! _What the actual _fuck _was the king of Shamballa doing-?

Wait. Exhaust her power? He knew...knew about Sothis and Divine Pulse? How?! His chest grew cold. _How could he know about that without...without being _told_? We're the only ones who..._

...Her father saved her. Her father – fuck. He'd...dammit, Jeralt...

Thunder rolled and lightning crashed as footsteps rumbled across the ground. The others gathered around in a loose semi-circle a short distance from them...Claude thought he could hear Bernadetta, Constance, Leonie, and Ashe crying, Felix cursing and demanding others help him search the area, Raphael's worried calling to Byleth, Dedue saying something about the knights...

“Teach,” He said quietly, gently but firmly grasping her shoulder and pulling her up a bit. She gave him a dull look from beneath her bangs, her eyes barely visible. “Teach, we can't stay out here.”

“...No,” She whimpered, tugging uselessly at her father's shoulders.

“Teach, you can't-” Claude fumbled for words, unable to ignore the knife stabbing his heart with every sob that left her throat. “Please. It's too dangerous. We have to get inside.”

“No.”

Dimitri's hand slid forward and grasped her other hand, squeezing it gently before pulling her free. “I'll bring him,” He murmured. “I'll be careful, I promise.”

“...no...” Byleth's voice was raw and barely a whisper. She feebly tried to pull free; Claude quickly wrapped his arms around her stomach and pulled her away from the body. She somehow sobbed even harder and part of him just wanted to _die._

“Sorry,” He whispered as he carefully balanced her on her knees, then started to stand up. “I'm sorry,” he pulled her up and slung her arm over her shoulder.

Dimitri – with the gentle care he'd come to expect from his prince – was starting to lift Jeralt's body when Leonie broke out of the crowd and ran to his side. “Let me h-help,” she hiccuped. Claude had never seen the strong-willed village girl trembling before.

“I have him,” Dimitri said reassuringly.

“Y-You don't understand. H-He was – he was my mentor. Please l-let me help.” Leonie's voice was shattered.

Dimitri was silent for a moment, then nodded despite not needing her help. Leonie glanced at Byleth, cradled in Claude's arms, sobbed and then knelt, throwing Jeralt's other arm over her shoulder. Ignatz and Lorenz hurried forward, followed by a still-sobbing Bernadetta and Yuri. As he balanced Byleth against him and pulled her to her feet, Claude watched the four of them form an honor guard around Dimitri, Leonie and Jeralt, in proper knightly formation no less. Atra stood up, one hand on her chest and her expression full of remorse; Balthus patted her shoulder and murmured something that made her momentarily stare at him. Hapi had her hands clasped in front of her; she, too, looked like she was muttering prayers, which wasn't something he'd expected from her. Moments later, Felix, Hilda and Dedue returned to the group without anything to show from their search. Felix looked both furious and upset; he'd never seen the blue-haired swordsman with an expression like that before.

“C'mon, Teach.” Claude murmured. Her only response was a violent, wracking sob. “One foot in front of the other. Stay with me, okay...?”

They started to walk, solemn and with their head bowed. Claude was tangentially aware that the bodies of the students that had been monsters were still left on the ground; he'd have to alert the knights so they'd be collected. The rain pounded mercilessly down on them; lightning crashed through the sky, making the looming image of Garreg Mach seem cold and monolithic.

Despite Felix's wariness, no one tried to attack them as they reached the steps of the monastery. Thales and Kronya must have decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Almost as soon as they reached the doors, they swung open to reveal Seteth, Manuela and Alois.

The latter let out a loud, distraught cry upon seeing Jeralt. It was so unlike him that Claude couldn't help but flinch; naturally, this didn't help Byleth in the slightest. She buried her face in his shoulder, either too distressed or too ashamed to look at anyone. Seteth paled dramatically and started issuing orders, turning and shouting for other knights to come _at once_ while a shaky Manuela walked up to him.

“I'll take her now,” The former opera singer said very gently, placing her hands on Byleth's shoulders. The professor tried to shrug her away, but it was halfhearted; the volume of her sobs had gone down slightly, but the intensity had not.

Claude frowned, clutching Byleth tighter. “I can't leave her,” He said firmly.

“Then don't,” Manuela responded patiently. To the side, Jeralt was being placed upon a stretcher held between two knights. Dimitri stepped back as Alois continued to bawl while placing a hand on his mentor's still shoulder; Leonie, however, stuck close as the body was borne inside. Byleth made a little noise like she wanted to go with them, but she was too insensate to follow through. “She shouldn't be alone; all I want is to take her to the hospital wing and check her over. Then I'll give her something to help her sleep. It will-” She sighed. “It will do her good to not wake up alone.”

Claude didn't have to consider that for more than a second before nodding. He waved for the rest of his shell-shocked classmates to listen to Seteth, then allowed the doctor to take his weeping professor from his back.

He still held onto her hand, even as Manuela lifted Byleth up and slung her over her shoulder with strength that he would not have associated with her before. He squeezed reassuringly as they made their way to the stairs, passing by panicking, stunned and confused staff along the way.

The walk felt like it went on forever; when they reached the top of the stairs, Byleth's voice had cracked and her sobs had slowed as a result; she still whimpered and coughed as Manuela walked to one of the bedsides and gently slung her down onto it.

Claude sat on the edge of the bed as the doctor slipped off. “Byleth,” He murmured. She looked at him through eyes so watery he wouldn't be surprised if she couldn't see him at all; her face was a mess. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.” He stroked her dark blue hair.

He was fairly certain he saw a slight green-gold glow in her eyes. _Maybe Sothis will know what to say or do when I don't..._

“Don't...” The whisper-rasp made him wince, and he looked around for a jug of water. “Don't leave.” He wasn't sure she was talking to him.

“I'm staying. I promise.”

Manuela returned them, armed with a bowl filled with warm water and a cloth in one hand and a vial of potion in the other. Byleth lay limp as the older woman gently cleaned her face, stiffly accepting first a drink of water to soothe her throat then the potion that would make her sleep. A few seconds later, she was out like a light, her cries finally silenced.

“To think this could happen to Captain Jeralt.” Manuela whispered. “I can't believe it.”

“...Only the divine don't walk with death,” Claude quoted an old childhood proverb. He kept brushing Byleth's hair; any comfort he could provide her now was more valuable than any secret.

“I know, I know...it's just so hard to fathom. He was such a powerful, incredible man.”

Claude nodded silently, not looking up. “You can sleep up here, if you wish. I'll tell the rest of her students the same thing. There will be guards posted at all times. Seteth will see to it that she's the safest person in the monastery.”

“Good.”

Manuela let out a soft sound, and patted Byleth's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she murmured to the comatose teen. Then she left through the door.

A couple moments later, Claude heard semi-familiar footsteps. He was good at recognizing people from the way they walked, and he'd been down in Abyss just long enough to start to get to know her. “If you're here to apologize...I have to ask what for,” He said to thin air. “I think they were coming after her one way or another.”

“...I know that,” Atra's quiet voice answered him. The black-haired girl hesitantly made her way into the room, staring down at the sleeping form of his Teach. “I – I wish I could have done something. I was preoccupied with Kronya, I didn't even see him in time. She pushed me out of the way and then she was vulnerable-”

“Teach never would have chosen not to save you,” Claude interrupted without raising his voice. Atra stalled and blinking at him in confusion. “You didn't realize what it really meant when she invited you into her mercenary troop, did you? When she decides that you are hers, there's nothing she won't do to protect you.” His mind went back to that night in the tunnels. “Jeralt knew that too. I think that's why he's the one who died instead of her.”

Byleth would have pushed herself past ten turns to try and save her father. The Chalice – her salvation the last time that happened – was locked away deep within the church's treasure vaults. Jeralt would never have been willing to risk her death as they scrambled to retrieve it.

It was still a bitter realization to swallow.

“Tell me what happened.” His voice came out very flat. He hoped that she realized that he wasn't angry at her.

“Kronya was in disguise as one of the students. Monica, I think.” Claude bit his tongue to keep from cussing the air blue because they had _rescued her_, had pulled her out of the tunnels and she had been a _plant _this _entire fucking time-_?! “She lured Jeralt, Byleth and I right up to the old chapel by claiming there were other students trapped, that one was about to transform. When Jeralt went to look, she tried to pull an Obsidian dagger on him.”

“A what?”

Atra let out a breath and pulled a long dagger out of her belt. It was unlike anything Claude had ever seen; it was long and serrated like a shark's tooth, made of a pitch-black metal identical to the scythe wielded by the Death Knight. As he stared at it, it seemed to pulse with energy. “It's a specially treated weapon designed to counter healing magic.” Atra explained dully. “When you're cut or stabbed with one, it releases a toxin inside you that rots your flesh and boils your blood from within. It happens so quickly that even the strongest healing magic can only slow it down; it creates a wound so jagged that you bleed faster. You're dead in twenty seconds without treatment.”

“...Right, Glenn got stabbed with one of those...how did you save him?”

Atra closed her eyes. “By pouring healing magic into the wound until it was small enough to cauterize, then continuing to heal him until I blacked out from magic burnout. I would have done it for Captain Jeralt, but...”

“Thales was there too. Why?” _To kill Byleth. Kill the goddess's host. Whatever spy has been haunting our footsteps since Lonato's ill-thought-out rebellion told him that she had to be taken out. _“Why not leave it to Kronya – and who's Kronya?”

Atra gave him a tired and rueful look. “Thales must be out and about because the Flame Emperor is; working on whatever sick plan the two have concocted to take over Fodlan. As for Kronya...she's his top assassin; he doesn't like her, but my sister is too good at what she does to be passed over for someone else.”

“I can see that, though how – wait, _what?!_” Claude's head whipped around so he could stare at her. “Y-Your _sister_?”

“...As much as I wish I could deny it, yes.” Atra crossed her arms. “When our mother was taken away by the acolytes, Kronya and I both entered the militia to dispel any suspicion that we were dissenters as well. Kronya was so full of anger and hatred over loosing mother that she used the army as an outlet...and at some point she started to enjoy it. She had always worshiped Thales, and...I think she convinced herself that mother was disappeared because dissenters had convinced her to abandon Shamballa for the surface. So she blames the surface and everyone who lives on it for the fact that mother is gone.”

“That's – I'm sorry, that _literally _makes no sense. Thales controls the guards that 'police' the city, if anyone made her disappear-!” Claude sputtered in outrage; Atra merely hung her head.

“I know. But Thales has power over the people in Shamballa that – that I can't explain. It's as if he can mold their souls by speaking. Kronya fully believes that he's our savior, that everything he does is justified – she can't accept the thought that he was responsible for it.”

Atra turned the knife over. The wrath in her eyes flickered in the firelight as she glared down at her sister's weapon. “Byleth somehow managed to intercept the knife and a fight broke out – but that's when Thales showed up. At first he tried to hit her with magic, but she avoided it; and that – that's when he targeted me. I managed to avoid a fatal hit, and Byleth saved me from the other...leaving her back open. Kronya went to stab her; Sir Jeralt pulled her back and threw her aside; in those moments, Thales had lined up a shot.”

Yeah, he could see the scene now. “You were too weak to move – probably in shock – and Byleth was standing up and recovering her bearings. Jeralt only had enough time to get in the way.”

Atra nodded solemnly, planting the dagger on a side table.

Cold hatred simmered in his chest. “Did she get him?”

Atra smirked at that. “Slashed his chest with the Sword of the Creator; if she hadn't been so badly stunned, she would have ripped him in half. Kronya had to abort and flee with him.”

There was a pause, and then Atra met his eyes evenly. “Listen...I doubt Kronya has gone very far away. Her objective is still alive, and she never abandons a mission. And you should not give her any quarter on my behalf. I know exactly what she is, and she considers me a traitor for leaving Shamballa.”

Claude gave her an old, humorless smile. “Thank you for being understanding.”

* * *

It wasn't long after Atra slipped away that the rest showed up one by one.

Leonie was first; her tears were dry, but the grief in her eyes was as thick as the storm clouds outside. Without saying a word to him, she dropped her coat on the floor and climbed onto the side of Byleth's bed. Like the sister she might have been in another lifetime, Jeralt's first and best apprentice lay down next to her professor and threw an extra blanket over both of them, resting her head next to Byleth's shoulder. Claude didn't comment, just smiling earnestly when she glanced at him.

Lysithea appeared next, with Ashe at her heels. The two were carrying blankets and pillows; again, without saying anything, they pulled a mattress onto the floor next to the bed where Byleth would be able to see them when she woke up. Arranging the blankets took about a minute, then they curled up on opposite sides of the mattress and watched the bed with half-lidded eyes.

Dimitri arrived a few minutes after that; he gave a very small smile at the scene that didn't match his terribly haunted eyes. He walked over to Claude's side and sat on the edge of Byleth's bed – carefully and silently, so as not to jostle her or Leonie. Claude reached over and squeezed his wrist, hoping the gesture shared whatever calm he was holding onto with his fingernails.

Marianne arrived next, followed by a solemn Raphael toting a mattress under each arm. Bringing up the rear were a shell-shocked Ignatz and Cyril, holding pillows. Cyril had a crayon and a pad of paper; as Raphael lay out the mattresses, he sat carefully and began to very carefully scratch out something on the pad. Marianne was praying, her lips moving silently as she stood next to the bed with her head bowed and hands raised up toward the heavens. Ignatz helped settle and dress the mattresses, murmuring to Raphael while they worked.

Claude tuned out the conversation, not wanting to intrude; he knew Raphael's history and what was likely on his mind. Amazingly, he seemed the most put together of the group; there was faint grief there, but largely warm compassion radiated from his eyes and his posture.

Cyril finished whatever he'd been writing, walked to the intention box at the far end of the wing and carefully pushed the paper into it. Setting his tools down, he returned to the impromptu sleepover and settled on the mattress between Lysithea and Ashe.

Moments later, Bernadetta emerged, leading Felix into the room. The latter looked uncomfortable and uncertain, but he wasn't resisting her. The purple haired girl looked at Byleth for a moment, swiped at her tear-stained face and walked over to one of the medical beds, flopping down on it and turning on her side to keep watch over the girl who had made her brave. Felix hesitantly sat down on the bed beyond hers, looking about like he was expecting to be thrown out.

Linhardt showed up next, along with Hilda. Hilda smiled sadly at Byleth and Leonie before trotting across the room, pulling a mattress off another bed and toting it back to the rest while Linhardt took in the sights, figited for a moment, and then elected to take the bed behind Claude and Dimitri.

Last but not least were Annette, Dorothea and Mercedes. Sadness and compassion in their eyes, they joined Marianne and Raphael on the mattresses, but not before placing a number of flowers on top of the knife on Byleth's bedside table.

Claude wished that Byleth hadn't been sedated before seeing this.

_You've lost your father, but you're not alone, Teach. You'll never be alone. _

_I love you. I love you, and I promise, this is not going to go unpunished. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I went back and forth on whether or not Jeralt should survive. I don't think he's death in canon was as well-executed as it could have been, and I feel like he had potential that went unrecognized. However, I ultimately decided that I couldn't save everyone, and I didn't want to loose this scene.
> 
> The scene where Byleth cries for the first time. She is feeling grief, all out, for the first time. I feel like it was too meaningful to side step. 
> 
> Maybe in another timeline, Jeralt. (smiles wistfully)


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth tries to distract herself from her grief.

The evening was cold.

Byleth shivered, one hand grasping at the grass. Distantly it occurred to her that she should get a coat, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She rested her chin on her knees and stared at the gravestone sitting in front of her without seeing it.

_Jeralt Reus Eisner_

_Sitri Eisner _

There were new flowers there. She'd replaced them yesterday, among the many others that had been lain out in the past two and a half weeks. The petals were almost obnoxiously bright and beautiful against the gray stone. The sky was overcast, with only a few rays of sunset leaking through to paint the walls of the monastery. The light felt warm against her skin...but it didn't make her feel any less numb.

_Are you still crying? _Sothis asked her softly.

Byleth blinked a few times. _Oh... _She swiped at her vision, rubbing her palm against the bridge of her nose. _I thought it was fog._

_This isn't good for you._

_I know. I just can't. I can't go anywhere in this building and still be able to breathe. _

Sothis didn't respond to that right away; even the buzzing sense of her friend's worry pressing against her soul was numbed. She could barely feel it.

She could barely feel anything.

The pain had been omnipresent in the first week. It dominated every waking moment of her life, haunted her sleep, consumed her every thought. She never left her room, randomly breaking down in violet fits of tears that her rotating visitors would have to rouse her from or hold her throughout. She felt like a marionette who's strings had been cut. The color was gone from the world, food had no taste, and no matter the temperature outside she always felt cold and numb.

She barely spoke more than a few words to her students in that time. Yet somehow none of them were resented this.

“_I'm going to sit with you until you eat something...okay, Professor?_” Ashe was one of her most frequent visitors. He and Dedue both brought her food at every meal, and he would sit on her floor and read Loong and the Maiden of Wind until she finally choked down enough of it to satisfy him. Dedue would occasionally do the same, and he brought her flowers he had raised in the garden. Even now she was wearing a carnation in her hair.

Manuela and Hannamen were managing her classes. Initially she'd tried to continue as she usually did, but she couldn't concentrate and couldn't keep her notes straight; Manuela had gently but firmly ordered her – in her capacity as Garreg Mach's head doctor – to go on bereavement leave for the next little while. She hadn't been able to protest as she probably should have.

Bernadetta had given her a handmade stuffed doll of some carnivorous plant; somehow it looked even more terrifying in plush form. Not that Byleth cared; the present was lain carefully next to her pillow and guarded jealously. Raphael occasionally dragged her out for exercise, and he was one of the few people who didn't treat her like she was made of glass. Lysithea brought her sweets made with Mercedes's help. Dorothea had sung to her a few times when they met in the evening, helping her sleep without dreams.

Hannah and the other mercenaries were in a state of distress too... They had attended the funeral that Byleth had been too broken (_too scared_) to attend, named Robb the new head, and then...just floundered, not going out for missions, just wandering around the monastery in groups like another member would disappear if they were let out of sight. Each of them came to visit her in turn, and none of them traded in the useless comfort words. _At least I still have them. They haven't decided to split up with father-..._

Claude and Dimitri were almost always at her side in one fashion or another. They gave her space when she asked for it, but they never left her alone. They knew when she needed silence and when they did talk, the conversations kept away from the trauma in the room. She could sense how worried they were for her – saw it in Claude's eyes whenever he shook her awake in the middle of the day or eyed the plate of half-eaten food sitting on her dresser, in the way Dimitri hovered whenever she _did _leave her room.

She hated hurting them, but she was too lost in the depths to try and swim for the surface.

The days blurred into each other. Byleth had long since lost track of what day of the month it was, and even though she was trying to focus enough to change up her lesson plans (Leonie could take the advance class test any day now...so could Bernadetta and Ignatz, frankly. She really should prepare the exams for them; no reason to make them wait.) she hadn't made much progress since...since that day.

Byleth looked up at the gray sky, the wind blowing against her face. The sun was still going down, but there wasn't too much daylight left.

“Been looking for you.”

Felix's businesslike voice cut through the haze in her mind like a knife. Byleth blinked twice and turned to look at him; the blue haired boy made his way down the stairs and walked over to her until he was standing a few feet away. He examined her for a moment, a storm in his eyes like he was warring between two different reactions on the state she was in. Then he collected himself and said,

“My father sent me a messenger. There's trouble with bandits at home and he wants me to come home and help deal with it. The army isn't stretched as thin as it used to be, but the regent is an idiot and doing nothing about the instability in the countryside.”

He waited for her to process that; Byleth nodded in comprehension, distantly wondering what this had to do with her.

“He also wants to see Glenn with his own eyes,” _Something _flickered across Felix's face – a grimace, a mashup of emotions that were gone too quickly to untangle – before he shook his head. “I guess that makes sense; it's had thing to swallow when you only know about it through a letter.” He crossed his arms. “I got permission to take you with us if you're up to it.”

“Take me with you?” Byleth parroted, dull confusion running underneath her skin. “To...Faerghus?”

“Just south of my father's lands, specifically.” Felix responded with what for him was an admirable amount of patience. “Leonie also said that if you went, so would she.”

“...Why do you want me to come?”

“Because I'm tired of watching you collapse in on yourself!” Felix snapped impatiently. He shook his head and jabbed a finger at her. “Tell me you don't need to get out of this building, to do _something _other than be stuck in your own head endlessly asking yourself 'what if'. You're rotting away like this and that's-! That's not acceptable, alright?”

… Bylteh wanted to refute that, but the words wouldn't come to her. “...Are you asking me to come or telling me to?” She asked quietly, tilting her head to stare at him. “...It's not like you to worry so much. I didn't realize...”

“G-come on! It's not _that_ weird, is it?” Felix complained, waving an arm in exasperation.

“'M sorry.”

_...I think you should go, _Sothis murmured. Byleth felt a phantom sensation of her friend running her fingers through her hair. _Taking some time away from this place and doing something that demands the whole of your concentration may grant you a reprieve. ...You aren't recovering lying about like this._

_If Felix is worried about me...everyone else must be going out of their minds... _Byleth pondered that for a moment through the numbness. _...I hadn't noticed..._

_If that prickly young man is managing to get halfway to saying 'I'm worried about you' without being under threat of Ingrid, I'm inclined to agree. _Sothis patted the top of her head. _What do you think? Will you go or stay here?_

… … …

Byleth tilted her head up again. Felix was tapping his foot and looking intently at her. “Alright,” She said softly. The boy's eyes widened; he'd just been opening his mouth to argue with her for much longer. “I'll go.”

She had to get out of the monastery, away from the walls she'd walked with her father, away from the knight's hall she'd so often found him drinking in, away from the barracks where she'd overhear him barking at the other mercenaries to stop slacking off on their training. She had to get out of here, just for a while, before she suffocated.

She hadn't noticed until Felix said as much.

“Good,” Felix's shoulders slumped a bit. Was that...relief? _I'm sorry, Felix. _She almost said it out loud, but knew he'd get defensive if she drew attention to his feelings.

Pushing herself to her feet, she followed him to the stairwell. “Have you told Claude about your plan?”

Felix snorted. “Why do you think I was so late in finding you? Arguing with an Alliance lord is a pain in the ass...I swear my head is still spinning. Tell him not to worry so damn much, will you? You have the creator's sword, and the rest of us will hardly be ignoring you during the mission.”

“I'm not sure Claude can help worrying.” _He does love me, after all. _The numbness abated ever so slightly for a moment. “I'll tell him I'll be fine.”

“Why don't you have a coat? Aren't you cold?”

“...I hadn't noticed.”

Felix muttered something that sounded like '_yeah, I bet you didn't' _under his breath. There was a tired, frustrated familiarity to his voice.

Byleth pretended not to hear it.

* * *

“Are you sure about this, Teach?”

Claude was still hovering around her as she and Leonie saddled up her horse. After an immense amount of arguing (_her students were doing most of the arguing; she'd said something like five or eight sentences through the whole conversation_) she'd convinced her students that the job would distract her and getting out of the monastery would do her some good. Seteth and Rhea seemed to agree, surprisingly – she'd expected Rhea to insist on her staying close and remaining where it was safest – but she agreed with the notion that Byleth should have a change of scenery.

Though she'd added the caveat that should Byleth's condition worsen or she begin acting erratically, the archbishop expected the Blue Lions to keep her out of any conflicts.

Dimitri agreed to this without missing a beat, causing a dull throb of annoyance in Byleth's gut that she dismissed as quickly as it struck her. _As if Dimitri would do anything else for me..._

“I'm sure, Claude.” She turned and tried to smile for him. Judging by the look in his eyes, it wasn't particularly convincing. “Don't worry; I'll have Leonie with me. I'll return to my professor duties when I get back...I promise.”

Claude scowled. “I don't want you to promise anything you might not be up to,” He said firmly. “I should go with you.”

“You've missed enough lessons as it is,” Byleth said, before lowering her head. “I'm...sorry about that. Sorry I haven't been stronger.”

“Teach, please don't be ridiculous.” Claude retorted. He grabbed her hand. “You not being okay now has nothing to do with strength. Besides, I'm up to date on my lessons anyway.” _I downplayed what I'm capable of so no one would suspect my heritage, _he didn't say.

“Somebody has to corral the others while I'm away,” Byleth tried to give him a smile. She might have managed a faint one, given how his expression softened ever so slightly. “Otherwise who knows what Lorenz will get up to?”

“...I know your joking about him, but still – you're sure I shouldn't come?”

“It might be a little awkward for you to be operating in Kingdom territory,” Felix said by way of explanation. He was standing at the stall gate, watching the two argue back and forth as if he was trying to learn something. “You got away with it while dealing with Miklan because the mission was sanctioned by Lady Rhea, but the local lords would probably be uncomfortable having a foreign lord see the internal stife we're experiencing. It's stupid, but there it is.”

“I don't look like a lord, though, so it won't matter.” Leonie lightly punched Claude's shoulder. He gave her a look that was both indigent and bemused in response. “C'mon, fearless leader. I'll look after the Professor; just trust me, okay?”

Claude looked between them for a moment before sighing in defeat. “Alright,” he allowed. “I trust you, Leonie. Felix.” The legitimate sincerity beneath his concern made Byleth smile a bit again...the startled look on Felix's face was wonderful. “But Teach, if you come back hurt, I'm never letting you go anywhere again. Got it?”

“Hehe...” The chuckle was dry and tired, but warm. “I understand.”

Claude squeezed her hand, giving her a look that said everything that he couldn't in the crowded stables. “I'll be careful,” She promised quietly. For him.

His eyes softened. “Glad to hear that.” He reluctantly let go of her hand and gave her a quick hug before slipping away from her, weaving through the various knights and lions toward where Dimitri was preparing his own horse. Byleth nodded to herself and turned around, jolting back when she saw a hand reaching down for her.

She glanced up and for a split second she thought she saw her father, pulling her up as they prepared for another long journey.

But she blinked and he was gone, Leonie in his place. Biting her lip to numb over the sudden spike of pain in her chest, she took the offering and got into the saddle. “Are you alright back there, Professor?” Leonie asked, shifting the lance and bow strapped across her back a bit so they weren't directly in Byleth's face.

“Yes. I'm...just tired.” She deflected, not wanting to upset the other girl. Her sister, in a way, after the months they'd spent together.

“Well, don't fall asleep or you might fall from the horse.” Leonie tried to make a joke out of it. Byleth suspected she understood and made a small noise of agreement.

Ingrid's pegasus emerged from her stall, shaking her wings out as her rider patted her mane and said something to Ashe that was lost in the din. The silver-haired boy nodded and waved Dedue over, gesturing to the stable containing his horse. (_He and Bernadetta were often in riding lessons together; they'd both improved by leaps and bounds, though Ashe humbly insisted that the purple-haired girl had a ways with animals he had no hope of matching._) Mercedes and Annette were riding together – apparently Annie had been taken horseback riding many times as a child when visiting her uncle. Dimitri and Sylvain had their own mounts, while Glenn and Felix shared a horse.

Gilbert – Gustav, she'd vaguely heard Dimitri call the old man that while the two of them visited her minutes apart – was their Knight of Serios adjutant, just like the lance retrieval missing. He still seemed to be avoiding Annette; Byleth didn't have the strength to get in his face about it. She felt like she should, though. Part of her, lost in the fog and deep underwater, wanted to scream at him.

What the hell did that idiot think he was doing? Where did he get off treating her like she didn't matter, like her love didn't matter? Did he intend to ignore her until he died and abandoned her all over again? She did not deserve the dignity of at least being acknowledged?!

Byleth realized she was glaring when Gilbert turned to look at her. He must have felt her stare boring into the back of his head. _Good. _She rested her forehead against Leonie's shoulder as the orange-haired girl turned her horse around and urged him into a trot, bringing them out of the stables.

The sun was shining brightly in a clear sky. Instead of warming her skin, it was more like a warm blanket over a block of ice. The numbness in her fingers and toes left her feeling as if the weather was mocking her.

“Hey Professor...did I ever tell you how I met your father?” Leonie asked, slightly cautiously.

Byleth blinked. She rested her forehead against Leonie's back, torn between just shutting the conversation down and wanting to listen. As she wrestled with herself, she felt Sothis's gentle touch on her mind before the Goddess gently asked, _'are you really in so much pain that even the happiest memories of him have to be buried away?'_

Something prickled in her chest. Her eyes blurred or a moment, then –

“I don't think you have,” Byleth said quietly. “He found you when he was looking for me, right?”

She couldn't see Leonie smile at all...but she thought she might be. Then the hunter started talking, slowly at first as the rest of the Blue Lions emerged and joined them on their way to the exit. Once they were out of the monastery and on the road, Leonie began talking more animatedly, gesturing with one hand as she described the humble village that struggled to fend off bandits and demonic beasts until a group of strangers came to their gates looking for someone...

* * *

Byleth zoned in and out throughout the trip to Northern Faerghus; a laborious two-and-a-half week journey that took them into colder land.

She never really 'fell asleep', but there were huge patches of time where she simply shut down and lost any sense of where she was. Leonie's voice drifted between being comprehensible and sounding as if it was coming from deep underwater; the few times she was cognizant enough to pay attention, the orange haired girl was shaking with the effort to speak calmly. Byleth did her best to support her with a hand on her arm or small noises to indicate she was listening...it wasn't easy. Filling in that year of lost time left that feeling of emptiness more insurmountable than ever.

Dimitri was always nearby. She could feel him watching her even when he wasn't doing his best to draw her out of the fog with conversation. His presence was a comfort, like Leonie...she felt guilty for not being able to give more than a token response. He was worrying terribly about her, she knew that...

When they stopped in bars and hotels along the road, she retired early and spent hours staring at the ceiling of her bedroom, listening to the snap-crackle of the fireplace. Depending on how much she'd eaten, Ashe would appear and gently-but-firmly give her some leftovers, or Mercedes would politely ask for entree and offer her a treat with a smile she couldn't turn down – even in this state.

Dimitri and Leonie weren't the only people indirectly trying to keep her head above water. Sylvain told her outrageous stories about nobles who'd sent their daughters to be courted by him, only for him to somehow offend each and every one of them in increasingly comical ways; Ashe rambled about new recipes he'd found in the kitchen's cook books, and Ingrid regaled her with knightly tales that she knew cover-to-cover by heart. When they were stopped at a way point, Felix would hammer on her door as soon as the sun rose and drag her out to the courtyard for sparring; Glenn occasionally joined them. Annette took to singing at random intervals; her tunes were sweet and nonsensical and clearly written by her quite recently.

For all that they sounded as though they were speaking to her from above the ocean...Byleth appreciated it. It was a thread keeping her from drowning.

Time passed in a haze. Some of the Blue Lions were bemoaning the length of their travels as they drew closer to their destination; she didn't really notice, by contrast. Her father had always-

-well. She'd spent most of her life traveling. And she had good company.

When they entered the lands of Felix's family, Lenoie nudged her pointedly. Byleth, startled out of her thoughts, mumbled a 'thank you' and did her best to focus on the world around her. They would be at the village mentioned in the message soon enough.

Keeping an eye out for enemies in the woods, movement nearby caught her attention...it was Glenn and Felix...

The older brother was looking about everywhere, his shoulders tense; meanwhile, Felix seemed to have shut down altogether except for tense battle-readiness. Byleth wasn't sure who she felt more sorry for; Glenn's obvious distress at knowing he was home, but not being sure he recognized anything – or her grumpy sword-wielding student for seeing his brother reduced to a borderline stranger.

They traveled for about an hour longer before they heard the noise.

Something cold, furious and _resigned _burst in Byleth's chest; she squeezed Leonie's shoulder as Felix swore and Gilbert started saying something. _Why can't we ever reach these battles in time? Why are we always just a few minutes too late?!_

She heard Dimitri curse – if she weren't so tired, she would have been kind of surprised by that – and then they all kicked their mounts into a gallop.

* * *

“Struggling to deal with some bandits? You're loosing your touch, old man,” Felix muttered. Glenn shot him a quelling look, which the younger swordsman ignored in favor of sweeping his gaze over the battle-riddled town and cursing. “Some villagers are trapped; we should spread out and help them escape. The knights will lend their strength.”

“...” Byleth jumped off of Leonie's horse and drew the Sword of the Creator. The heat that pulsed through the grip pierced through the haze in her mind, batting away the memories of Remire (_the screaming, the death, the people who treated her kindly reduced to rabid animals-_) as it called for the death of her enemies. “Let's go,” She said to her student as her eyes found a tall dark mage throwing Miasma spells at a knight shielding a cowering peasant.

Then she darted forward and threw herself into the fight.

The Relic Sword tore into one of the leader's guards, carving his arm off like a hot knife through butter. Leonie blurred past her, bow in hand as she riddled the other with arrows. Behind her she heard the crackling of Fire as Annette and Mercedes joined the battle; hooves thundered on the ground as Dimitri and Sylvain went ahead deeper into the village. Byleth jumped over the bleeding, armless bandit and offhandedly slashed to the side, splattering a would-be tyrant across the wall.

The dark mage said something in an arrogant-panicky voice that she neither heard nor cared about before casting Miasma at her. She cut the blast in half with the Creator's Sword, striding through the magic as it dissipated to the side and swinging the blade in a wide arc.

It split apart on command, tearing the dark mage in half – just like that night in the Holy Masoleum, so many nights ago.

A week ago, the sight would have made her throw up. Now, however, a familiar cold numbness had settled over her like a thick blanket of snow, and she turned away without pause. Only her thoughts lingered, _was that necessary? _

_Byleth... _Sothis's voice was half warning, half worried.

_If the leaders die, the pack will scatter, _She thought back unemotionally. _Faerghus is inundated with bandits; has been since the Tragedy. They would prefer to have one less plaguing them. _

_Of course you're right, but I didn't realize you'd stopped taking prisoners._

_...Sorry. I backslid a bit. _

_Go find Dimitri. _

_I'll only slow him down; the sooner we reach all the civilians trapped in here, the better. Leonie needs to hurry ahead as well._

_Then go to Annette and Mercedes! You're not allowed to be alone, remember? _

Byleth sighed as Leonie shot down another bandit and slowed her horse to a canter, offering the peasant the tired knight had been guarding a helping hand. Babbling his thanks, he accepted it while the knight straightened up, the green glow of physic surrounding him and giving him a much-needed burst of recovery. _As you wish, _she acquiesced, turning on her heel and trotting back the way she came.

The knight waved at her, shouting his gratitude and asking her to go deeper into the city. She made a noise of acknowledgment and picked up the pace, her eyes finding Annette's orange shock of hair within the brewing chaos. The mage girl was throwing fireballs with gusto, Ingrid flying overhead and throwing javelins at any brawlers that tried to charge the slender girl down.

Mercedes was a few paces backward, one eye on her best friend and another eye on the center of town, which was essentially one big ball of confusion and chaos. For a moment Byleth thought she saw a flash of blue and a particularly large horse, but the image vanished behind a house. _That must be Lord Rodrigue, _she realized. _So he came out in person to lead his knights against bandits? ...I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given how much of an influence he is on Dimitri. _

She'd have to get into the center herself and find where the other villagers were being kept...but right now, there was a swordmaster charging Annette and that was _unacceptable_.

Byleth raised her free hand and channeled magic through her fingertips. The swordmaster froze for a split second – realizing he was in trouble – before Aura engulfed him completely and blasted him into ashes. Annette let out a small startled noise but smiled brightly when Byleth skidded to a halt by her side. “Thanks Professor!”

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” Annette frowned a bit, “Felix and Glenn ran ahead though! They vanished into that mess;” she waved at the chaotic city center. “without waiting for us!”

“Then we just have to catch up,” Byleth decided. With Annette safe, her mind was relatively clear as she grimly examined the scene in front of her. Then she snapped her head up and called, “Ingrid, what's the situation?!”

“There are two groups of villagers trapped to the south and the west of your current position,” The blonde reported as she and her pegasus dipped low enough for her words to be comprehensible. “The leader of this battle group retreated after loosing a fight to Lord Rodrigue; he's barricaded himself in the northwest corner of the town.” She pointed her lance more-or-less directly west of where they stood. “The peasants can escape the chaos through there, but we'll have to clear out the bandits in the way.”

“Right,” Byleth waved Mercedes forward and glanced about. “Where are Dimitri and Sylvain?”

“Clearing out the north and guarding a number of villagers,” Ingrid said. “Neither are hurt, or at least _they shouldn't be,_” There was a definite warning in her voice; Byleth felt her lip twitch slightly at the thought of her rival in 'motherly hovering' going off yet again at her hapless best friends. “But they'll be held up for a little bit. Leonie's just joined them, and she's making her way bit by bit toward the northwest barricade. Felix and Glenn are fighting back to back in the center; they're supporting each other well enough, but they and the knights are in a stalemate as long as those peasants need protection.”

“Then we'll break the lockjam,” Byleth decided. “Fly over us, Ingrid, and don't forget to keep an out for archers. Are you ready Annette?” The orangette nodded, and she twisted to glance at Mercedes. “Mercie, stay behind me alright?”

The blonde nodded, concern in her eyes. “Be careful, Professor.”

Byleth nodded faintly before turning and lunging into the center of the city, throwing a fireball at the back of a swordsman trying to approach Felix who had his back to him. The man stumbled, loosing his footing – Annette followed that up with Sagitte, dropping the man for good. Byleth then planted one heel onto the stone, unlatched her sword into a whip and, with a brief look ensuring that none of her allies were in her rage, spun in a wide circle.

The Creator's Sword blazed and tore through armor and weapons alike; the blow rending the air itself, shock waves knocking over all but the allied knights who had gotten out of her way as soon as they'd caught sight of her. Byleth righted herself and looked at the cracked, melted stone her blow had created. Over a dozen men were dead and several more thrown backwards with fractured bones; Glenn had frozen for a second to stare in wide-eyed surprise at the sheer sight. Felix, by contrast, just grinned at her.

“Whoa!” Annette gasped. “I-I don't think I'm ever gonna get used to seeing that, Professor.”

Mercedes lightly batted at her friend's shoulder with her free hand; she was busy healing some of the knights, who looked quite haggard. “Focus, Annie; we can praise her later.”

“It – it's Sothis's chosen! The bearer of the Goddess's Crest!” Cried an unfamiliar voice. Byleth pivoted slightly, confused by this remark, and found the source after a second.

A large gaggle of peasants, guarded by a somewhat familiar blue-haired figure astride a magnificent horse. He wielded a lance in one hand while the other glowed with golden healing magic; he wore no helmet, but even if he had one she would have known he was looking at her. A few of the peasants had come closer, looking intently at her – some with hands over their mouths.

“A descendant of the King of Liberation...a savior in our time of need...the goddess has not forgotten us!”

“She's beautiful – I'd heard she was young, but the image in my mind is no comparison –“

“Hail! Hail!”

“To be graced by her presence alongside our prince – he has her faith – our troubled times will be coming to an end!”

Byleth watched this with confusion and a faint chill down her spine; _w-what is all of this?_

_...Are you surprised? _Sothis's quiet tone had a whiff of guilt to it. Whether it was remorse over her amnesia or just believing that her friend and host has enough on her mind, Byleth couldn't tell. _This is the **Holy **Kingdom of Faerghus, Byleth, and you bear my Crest. For you to come to them in their hour of need now, they see it as divine providence._

_But that's... _Byleth was distracted from her sudden existential dread by a pair of bandits that were either dumber than most or decided that throwing themselves at her was a better ending then getting tossed in a jail cell. Annette smoted one of them with a fireball while Byleth trapped the second's leg with the Sword and wrenched it out from under him. _I'm...just a mercenary..._

How could she be any kind of deliverer when she couldn't save her own father?

Not that she had time to think of it right now. Instead she kicked her opponent down and disarmed him before making her way toward the south end, Annette at her heels and Ingrid flying overhead.

“It's you, from the Officer's Academy!” Rodrigue greeted her warmly when she reached him; he must have seen something in her expression, because his smile was full of kindness and reassurance. “Thank you for taking such good care of my son.”

“I don't give me too much credit,” Byleth said, looking over the peasants and offering healing to the battered peasants. The look of awe and reverence in their eyes as they reached for her; some tried to kneel. _Please don't, _she thought but didn't say, wracked with uncertainty. She didn't want to take away the hope in their eyes. “Felix learns quickly, and often on his own. He's very determined.”

“He is at that,” Rodrigue agreed. His eyes were panning the battlefield; when he didn't find who he was looking for, he turned his horse and said, “I'm sorry to trouble you, but we must get these people out of the hamlet before we contend with the rest of the bandits.”

“That's what I'm here for,” Byleth said in response; her chest twinged a bit.

Glenn was wearing his hood up; either out of force of habit or to avoid distracting those who knew him in the midst of a heated battle. With him guarding Felix's back, facing the other side of the village, unless you knew it was him he was easy to overlook. _After the battle, I'll make sure he doesn't loose his nerve and run off. _She decided.

She, Annette and Mercedes quickly formed an honor guard around the villagers while Ingrid swooped down and helped Rodrigue open up a pathway for her between some of the ruined buildings. Byleth made sure to move ahead a few steps before lashing out with the Creator's Sword again; it tore open the armor of the Knight in front of her and sent him crashing through his myrmidon backup. Annette and Mercedes were both on the offensive now; the latter had learned Bolganone at some point which had a much wider area of effect when cast. Her fire knocked another armored knight out of the battle, allowing the villagers to run along unimpeded.

Byleth could hear cursing and crashing at the north side of the village; risking looking away from a few seconds, she saw Sylvain blast the locked gate with a fire spell (_that was new, when did he start practicing magic?_) allowing Dimitri to knock it open and start approaching the bandit leader, Leonie right behind him. Byleth tensed on instinct.

_Felix and Glenn are going that way too...they won't let anything happen to him, _she tried to reassure herself. It didn't loosen the knot in her chest at all.

Returning her attention to the front, Byleth saw Ingrid preform an elegant fly-by during which her pegasus kicked an archer's head hard enough to knock him into a tree while spearing a mage who had been blocking the open pathway. Rodrigue raised his free hand, and a rush of magic swept over a massive area of the village...

_Fortify? So he's a Holy Knight..._

It fit what she'd been told.

Byleth reached the village exit and took a defensive stance, trusting Annette and Mercedes to see the people out. The loudest noise in the village was now coming from where the bandit leader was holding up, so this battle was close to being finished...but it was better to be paranoid than dea-

Her vision blurred for a moment. At the back of her mind, she felt Sothis wrap her arms around her shoulder – both to comfort her and remind her to stay in the present

It helped her deal with a mage who didn't seem to realize that the battle was over.

* * *

With the villagers secured and the last of the bandits dealt with, Byleth made her way up to where the majority of the Lions had gathered, Annette and Mercedes at her heels. A quick but thorough look around showed her that no one was seriously injured; that was a relief.

She did show up just in time to see Glenn slowly pull his hood off, now that he was face to face with his father.

The reaction from the various knights who had been defending the village was immediate and widespread – she heard a lot of gasps, sputtering and bitten-off 'is that-?' 'no way, it's impossible-' 'Lord Glenn? But-' ...all of which was silenced by Glenn briefly but deliberately allowing his crest to rise to the surface.

She wasn't at a good angle to see Rodrigue's face, but the way he shuddered – like he'd been run through – said more than words ever could. He took a few hesitant steps forward before reaching out and touching the side of Glenn's face. Lightly. Like he was afraid that this was a mirage, that the young man would vanish the moment he came close. “My son,” his proud voice broke on the words. “My son...is it truly you?”

“I'm sorry,” Glenn said. The stoicism that he'd stubbornly hung onto ever since they had met him in Remire finally seemed to collapse. “Father, I'm so, so sorry...”

Rodrigue didn't give him a chance to elaborate or plead any further; instead he grasped Glenn's shoulders and roughly pulled him into what looked like a crushing embrace. Even from where she stood, Byleth could hear him sobbing in disbelief and happiness just before the knights around him erupted in cheers of joy.

Something sharp, hot and painful spiked in her chest. _So that's what jealousy feels like. _Not responding to Sothis's worried murmur, Byleth tore her eyes away from the scene and walked off to one of the stone walls. She collapsed against it and slid to the ground, planting the Sword of the Creator into the dirt ground and burying her face in one arm.

_I want my father back. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm fortunate in that I haven't lost anyone I'm very close to in my life, I do have clinical depression that comes and goes depending on some other problems that I have to deal with. I think I spent a good chunk of my time in high school submerged in the very fog of exhaustion and despair Byleth's stuck in, and it may well be making a comeback now because of University. 
> 
> It's a really bad place to be...even when you're surrounded by people you know love you, who try to pull you out of it - it doesn't go away easily. Mixed with the fact that Byleth has no experience managing grief, and I'm pretty sure it's only her students (and here, her love interests) that are preventing her from completely falling apart. 
> 
> The results of Glenn talking to his father will be explored next chapter. I wanted to focus exclusively on Byleth's grief (and to a lesser extent her interactions with the Blue Lions.)


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri helps Byleth get some closure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Denist appointments suck. This heat sucks. I'm not sure this chapter came out as good as I wanted it too because of all that. Ugh. Why can't it be at least a few degrees cooler...

“_In time...your tears will dry up. When that happens, you can decide what you're going to live for now.” _

“_...” _

_He brushed her hair aside one more time and then stood from her bed, his heart twisted in a painful knot. A familiar mixture of sadness and frustration washed over him; he hated how impotent he was, how impossible it seemed to ease her grief. Yet he was also resigned to it; he remembered being the figure burrowed beneath the thick blankets, shut away from the world in an ocean of loss. Perhaps it was even worse for her, as difficult as that was for him to fathom._

_Byleth had never truly been able to grieve before; now, the return of her stolen emotions was a curse instead of a blessing. All he could do was support and try to guide her with his own sorrowful memories as a map... The Prince of Faerghus hadn't felt so impotent in four years, and he loathed the sensation more than ever..._

“_Try to get some sleep, Byleth.”_

“_...It's you...” _

_His hand froze on the door handle; he turned his head back toward her. _

_The heavy blankets shifted, her head peaking out from the folds of the cotton and silk. Her hair was a mess, and he could just barely see her dark blue eyes gazing back at him. _

“_You're my reason.” Byleth rasped. _

_It sounded like a promise._

* * *

Dimitri expelled a long breath and stared out the window. “They're still there...”

Felix scowled violently, dropping his whetstone on a side table and shoving his seat back as he stood up, angling to storm out the door and make a scene. Firelight glinted off his freshly repaired silver sword. “We can shoo them off, can't we? What part of 'she needs rest' is so hard to comprehend?!”

“_Easy, _Felix.” Sylvain said, stalling his old friend with a hand on the shoulder. “They're not making much noise or trying to get in. I bet they'll disperse on their own once darkness falls.”

“We should have expected something like this...” Ingrid groaned, running a hand through her loose hair. “The Professor's favor with the goddess-” Dimitri did his best not to wince, chuckle, look skyward or any combination thereof; meanwhile, Felix's expression contorted in a truly impressive way. “-is a sign of hope for them. They only want to pay her homage.”

“I don't think the Professor is very comfortable with that,” Mercedes said a little bit sternly. “Even though she wields the Sword of the Creator, she's sometimes uncertain about her own humanity... even if she wasn't grieving right now, she would think they're making a mistake in venerating her.”

“What exactly does it mean to the faithful that she can use the sword?” Dedue asked, frowning out the window. He'd helped Dimitri guide Byleth through the crowd; she'd found enough of a spark to snap at someone in the crowd who had started yelling about a 'filthy Duscur demon' touching a holy woman. She'd snarled at him to shut up, which had silenced the whole crowd instantly. Then she'd said something else that Dimitri doubted Dedue would forget anytime soon.

_He is **my student**. Reject him and **you reject me**. _

No one had dared say a word against his friend since.

“It means that she's a champion of the goddess,” Mercedes explained patiently. Again, Felix's expression went through some remarkable contortions, while Dimitri silently debated opening up and telling the rest of his classmates about Sothis and Byleth's connection. Poor Ashe, meanwhile, sort of looked like he wanted to escape into unconsciousness. “Following in the footsteps of the King of Liberation before he fell to darkness. It makes her a figure of hope, justice, and faith for everyone who believes in Sothis.”

“It almost makes her more of a holy figure than the Archbishop,” Annette agreed, before tilting her head. “Y'know Mercie, you're one of the most devout people I've ever met, but you haven't really treated the professor differently since she got the Sword. It's not a bad thing or anything!, I'm just wondering why?”

Mercedes hummed, closing her eyes for a moment. “I think it's because I knew her before she picked it up,” the priestess-in-training mused. “That makes it easier for me to remember that she's human as well as divine. I don't want her to feel overwhelmed by her role, whatever it may be.”

A general noise of agreement rippled through the room. Ingrid glanced up at the ceiling as if looking for their teacher, concern plain on her face.

“I wonder what Lady Rhea thinks the reason for the Professor gaining the sword is,” Ashe wondered as he fiddled with the string of his bow. “She's kept a close eye on her ever since that night, but she hasn't really said much on the subject. I wonder why...”

“I think we'll find out in time,” Mercedes responded confidently.

Sylvain sat back down on his chair and tilted his head. “Hey, Felix – what did Glenn need to talk to your father about? Aside from the obvious, anyway.”

“What's obvious? Atra, or his coming back from the dead?” Felix threw himself down on the couch next to the redhead, looking frustrated.

“You know what I mean,” Sylvain responded chidingly, an unusually serious look on his face. “Atra's testimony absolved Duscur of the King's death. That's huge.” Ingrid winced while Dedue seemed to loose a bit of energy at the statement, closing his eyes. Dimitri hadn't seen him look so shaken when he'd repeated the Agarthans testimony regarding the Tragedy since he'd first met his friend, four years ago... “Wherever Shamballa is, if they're not going to leave us alone, we have to fight back. Your father is the obvious man to lead a counterattack.”

Dimitri twitched a bit at the reminder.

_You are the last Blaiddyd, _His father murmured, his voice faint as a wind's whisper. The prince could never remember his ghosts being so weakened before; why were they leaving him now? Why now, with vindication within reach? _You have to stay safe until you wed Byleth and birth an heir..._

“We can't do that until we figure out how they orchestrated the ambush,” The prince said at last. “They couldn't have achieved both the slaughter and the framing without spies. I imagine Glenn is passing on what little he and Atra know about that right now...”

Ingrid grimaced. “Will Lord Rodrigue be safe searching the other lords? Several in Eastern Faerghus have been belligerent ever since that day; they might use it as a pretext for rebellion.”

“Father will be fine,” Felix bit out, though the aggravation in his voice seemed feigned to Dimitri's ears. The blue haired boy hadn't greeted his father with the vitriol or derision that had been typical of him since the tragedy...instead he's been very quiet. In turmoil, almost – like he was at war with himself. Dimitri wondered if the (for Felix) uncharacteristic amount of hovering his old friend had been giving Byleth was just as much a distraction from his own thoughts as borne out of his worry for her...

“The investigation will be discreet. It has to be, or the spies will flee before they can be captured.” Ashe leaned back in his seat. “Shamballa...it's so hard to fathom. A city beneath the earth that's existed for over a thousand years? If we hadn't seen Solon and his men in Remire, I don't think I'd be able to believe it...”

“It makes me wonder what else they've done in the past.” Ingrid muttered. “I mean, when you think about it...this can't be the first time they've tried to destroy Faerghus, right? If they hate all the people who live on the surface, what would they have been waiting for?”

“What I wanna know is how poor their health programs are,” Sylvain said with a dramatic sigh. “Poor Atra...a beautiful girl like her deserves better than being covered head to toe in burn scars.”

“Yes, because when we're considering the capabilities of an ancient enemy we know next to nothing about, that's obviously the thing we should focus on,” Felix said sarcastically before glaring at his friend. “Moron!”

“Hey, excuse me for trying to lighten the mood.”

Dimitri closed his eyes.

_Shamballa. _

His vengeance (Byleth's vengeance, too) had a target. The true enemy, despite their attempts to misdirect him, were within sight. It was only just that a betrayal by one of their own people who awakened to justice was the thing that made them vulnerable to their would-be targets.

He desperately wished he could join Rodrigue on his investigation; he longed for a chance to crush his phantom enemies in battle, rather than running around in the dark trying to mitigate the tragedies they left in their wake. That had gone on long enough.

Then his father, his stepmother and his friends...they could all finally rest...

The door opened, startling him out of his thoughts, revealing a tired-looking Glenn making his way into the room. Ingrid immediately hopped out of her seat and walked over to him, putting a concerned hand on his shoulder. “Glenn? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it's fine.” He said, sounding a bit distracted. He clasped her hand for a moment, his posture a little awkward but sincere. “I'm just tired. There was...much to explain.” Pain flashed in his dark eyes for a moment. _Having to remember that night again...ah, Glenn, if I'd known I would have gone back for you! I just assumed...I left you behind, left you to wander the world with Atra, cut off from your family and your home!_

_I'm so sorry...!_

“We should head back to the monastery tomorrow morning,” Glenn said, glancing towards the stairs that lead to the hotel's upper level. “The sooner we're back, the better. Hopefully nothing's happened since we left, but given Kronya's impatience...”

“Claude, Yuri and the others are on their guard,” Ingrid said soothingly. “She won't catch them by surprise again. Plus the security at the monastery is heightened.” She frowned at him for a moment, then grabbed his hand and lead him toward the staircase. “You look like you're going to fall asleep on your feet; come on.”

Glenn's protest was inaudible, but he didn't fight her too hard.

Ashe cracked a massive yawn and slid his bow over one shoulder. “I think I'm gonna turn in too,” he managed. “What about you guys...”

Dimitri almost said that he was fine, but Byleth's face flashed behind his eyelids, arms crossed and frowning as she asked how much sleep he'd been getting the past little while. Surrendering to her image, he stood up and said, “I think that would be wise.”

He pointedly ignored Sylvain's dumbfounded look, and the fact that he'd said it before the redhead got the chance to.

* * *

The road back to the monastery was quiet and mercifully uneventful.

With Glenn's news in mind, Rodrigue had sent them off with thunder in his eyes; Dimitri pleaded with him to be careful in his search. His father figure had acknowledged the need for secrecy, somewhat needlessly reminding the class to be careful of whom they talked to. He'd also told Glenn to convey to Atra his desire to speak directly to her as soon as was feasible.

Glenn had looked a little uneasy at that, but acquiesced nonetheless. He looked a little less worn and a little less stiff than he had since returning from Remire; he did look tired, though.

Dimitri knew why. He'd woken in the night from a nightmare (_when had Byleth's death replaced his stepmother vanishing into the flames in his thoughts?_) and gone downstairs for a drink when he'd seen them together... Glenn pacing back and forth, asking one question after the other about previous years as he rubbed his temple and cursed his memory loss with every other breath he took. Rodrigue had responded patiently and shakily, until eventually (some time later, after he'd gotten his drink and slipped back up the stairs unannounced) the adrenaline wore off and Glenn virtually collapsed on the couch, slipping into a dreamless rest. Not caring that his son was nineteen and not a child anymore, Rodrigue had then gathered him up in his arms and lay him against his shoulder so as not to disturb his sleep.

It was another reminder that, because of all the mind-bending revelations the renegade Agarthan had dropped on them, he'd yet to get around to asking Atra exactly what happened that night. A peasant levy she had been, but surely she'd remember the face of the lord who had lead the massacre – and he wondered what had prompted her to follow a group of soldiers so far from the only home she knew...

He probably should have given it priority, but he was too worried about Byleth to badger Atra for more answers. And now that they were returning to the monastery, he was keeping a wary eye out for any sign of Kronya.

And worrying that she might have struck while they were away.

“What are you thinking, Dimitri?” Byleth asked quietly as they scaled a hill, revealing Garreg Mach amidst the grassy fields and valleys before them. It was still at least an hour away, but having it finally in sight after the long trip was a relief.

“Is it that obvious?” He asked a little sheepishly, hiding his surprise and relief at her comparatively more animated state. In a desire to 'give Leonie's horse a break_', _she'd swapped over to him yesterday. Even right now, he – perhaps selfishly – treasured every moment she spent in his arms, leaning on him and clearly drawing comfort from his presence.

“You're tense.”

“Well, it's been a long trip...” Dimitri glanced over his shoulder, searching for Sir Gilbert. He noticed the man out of the corner of his eye, hovering a few feet away from Annette while simultaneously only hesitantly engaging in conversation with her. “And I can't help but worry that something troubling might have happened in our absence.”

“...Yuri has the entire Abyss on alert. Claude and the others are watching each other's backs. They're fine for now.” Byleth's quiet, even tone reminded him of when he'd met her. Noticing that made his heart sink.

“On one hand, I know that,” He sighed. “But on the other, I just can't help myself.” _I don't want to loose anyone else precious to me. The mere idea makes me teeter on the edge of drowning in the __**Red**__. I can't survive it._

Byleth's hand alighted on his and squeezed lightly. Her skin was cool; her fingers traced the back of his hand in an effort to comfort him. “...I'm glad I met you,” she said in response. She didn't elaborate on what she meant by that or where the words came from.

Dimitri rested his forehead against her shoulder, wishing the small gesture could truly convey the immense affection her remark sparked in him. “Thank you.”

“Geez...” Leonie let out an explosive sigh, rubbing her back. “Was there really no faster route back from Faerghus? I'm going to feel this tomorrow morning.”

“It was the safest path for a small group like ours,” Ingrid said, though not without sympathy. “There are a few faster trails time-wise, but they're more treacherous by comparison; especially if we'd gone over the mountains.”

“It's still early...” Ashe still sounded sleepy from rolling out of bed three hours ago. “D'you think it'll be alright if we got some sleep after giving the mission report?”

“I think that would be perfectly fair,” Gilbert said, rejoining them at the head of the group. Dimitri quickly shifted so he and Byleth weren't leaning on each other; he missed the contact almost instantly. _The feeling of peace and happiness I feel around you...it's like an island in a raging storm. I wish we didn't have to hide it. _

“Thank goodness,” Ashe said fervently. “I'm getting better, but the length of the travel took a lot out of me.”

“It isn't just you,” Sylvain lamented. “I was hoping to go into town when I got back, but now I just want to crash and sleep forever.”

Felix snorted but didn't comment, oddly enough.

Mercifully for Dimitri's nerves, when they entered the town at Garreg Mach's entrance there was no sign anything was amiss. The children and the booth sellers cheered and welcomed them back; the new guard patrols (now visible among the people, rather than dressed in plainclothes) lead them to the stables and pulled Gilbert aside to discuss what they had and hadn't seen since they left. Byleth slipped off of his horse and waited just long enough for him to join her before speed-walking out, pausing only long enough to greet Hannah. Knowing what was on her mind, Dimitri let her go ahead while he tended to his horse.

“She looks a little better,” The grey-eyed mercenary commented, walking over to join him. She offered the tired horse an apple and smiled as the fruit was immediately devoured with enthusiasm. “Not good, really, but better.”

“Do you think so?” Dimitri asked without looking up, knowing the older girl wouldn't be offended. He focused on removing the saddle. “I'm not so sure...”

“Believe it, your highness. I've spent several years keeping an eye on her, watching for the minute expressions that were our only window into her thoughts.” Hannah's expression grew a little wistful. “This place is good for her. I wonder if the Captain...” Her eyes darkened. “Well, there's no point in that now.” Giving her head a shake, she scratched the horse's chin as Dimitri put the saddle away and began to take off the bridle.

Dimitri nodded in understanding, not saying anything. Words had very little power now, and he was certain Hannah and the other mercenaries were sick of condolences at this point.

“Oddly enough...I think _you _look less tired than I'm used to seeing you.” Hannah leaned on the gate and gave him a curious look. “Sleeping better?”

“Ah...you can say that,” Dimitri said awkwardly as he unlatched the gate and stepped out. “Do I truly look so frazzled? First Seteth, and now you...”

“I've been on enough jobs to know when someone's stressed out,” The pegasus knight responded by way of explanation. “I know it's none of my business, but I hope this means that you've gotten whatever's been bothering you out of your hair.”

_Truthfully, I've barely started. But I don't feel quite so alone anymore... _“It's kind of you to be concerned. I have in fact been sleeping more peacefully the past month; it's done much to clear my head.” Dimitri cast his gaze around for a brush, only for Hannah to pick one up and walk over.

“I'll take care of the rest,” She said with a faint smile. “In exchange, continue keeping an eye out for the kid, alright?”

The young prince smiled back. _It's good that you're still here. _“Thank you; I will.” _For the both of us. _

* * *

Byleth had been sleeping a lot ever since that day. Even when traveling by horse, she would lean back against Leonie or Dimitri and doze for hours at a time. It worried Dimitri a little, but he remembered doing the same in the aftermath of the massacre four years ago. The more rest she got, the better; she seemed alert enough to soon return to teaching.

The prince leaned back against his chair, gazing down at his sleeping lover. She looked at peace lying on her side beneath the heavy blankets; her chest rose and fell in soft regularity. Dimitri smiled tenderly, reaching out and brushing stray strands of blue hair away from her eyes. She shifted slightly under his touch but didn't wake.

It was late in the evening; the sunset was pouring over the grounds and monastery. He'd woken from his own nap an hour ago and gone to dinner. There he'd learned from Ashe that Byleth was still asleep, waking only briefly to eat some chicken. _The trip must have taken a lot out of her. _Claude had slipped out for late flying practice along with Lysithea, leaving Dimitri to watch over her.

A soft shimmer of green and gold caught his eye. Dimitri sucked on a short breath and watched in awe as Byleth's form shimmered, transfiguring into Sothis who lazily raised her head with a rueful look. “Well at least she's still sleeping,” The goddess remarked, swinging both legs off the side of the bed. “Good evening, princeling._” _

“...Good evening,” Dimitri managed after a moment, shivering at the feeling of her eyes on him.

Sothis glanced over at the cooled plate of food, snatched a cracker off of it and started nibbling on it. “It's sweet of you to be so concerned,” she said, “but might I ask you not to hover quite as much as you do? Byleth feels pressured to recover faster than she really is to ease your mind.”

“Ah,” He said, abashed. “I hadn't realized.”

“Of course not, she wasn't willing to say as much.” Sothis sighed, tilting her head. “In way it's only fair, considering how much she hovers and worries over the two of you.”

Dimitri couldn't help but chuckle a bit at that. He ducked his head, but Sothis just grinned in response. It only lasted a moment though; then the goddess sighed. “I think she's finally beginning to run out of tears...this cannot be borne much longer. We need to start pushing back against these...Agarthans; not just reacting to their atrocities.”

“If only there was more Atra could tell us,” Dimitri muttered bitterly. “The wretched assassin fled with her master, leaving us with no one to interrogate.”

“Mm, I don't think they'll hide for long.” Sothis's eyes darkened. “Their last two attacks were a month apart, weren't they? It's not quite a pattern yet, but...”

The prince gripped his knee. “Let them come,” He said remorselessly.

Sothis gave him an unreadable look; he shrank back in shame, internally chiding himself for letting the boar rattle its cage. However, the green-haired goddess merely favored him with a concerned frown before responding, “Perhaps that is the simplest solution. We are expecting them this time, after all.”

It was at that moment that a hurried knock on the door interrupted their correspondence. “Byleth?” Atra's voice was wracked with urgency. “Are you there?”

“Speak of the devil...” Sothis mused, tilting her head. “Byleth is still sleeping...hm. If she is our ally, then it couldn't hurt for her to know.” Raising her voice a bit, she said, “Come in.”

There was a pause, then the door swung open. The Agarthan renegade was dressed in her usual long hood and armed; her breathing suggested she'd come here in a rush. _Did she find something? Has Kronya reemerged?!_ Atra's expression was serious as the grave when she initially stepped inside, but that died a quick death when her eyes settled on Sothis.

For a moment her lips parted in confusion and surprise as she looked her up and down. Then she noticed what the goddess was wearing...then her gaze traveled to her ears and the small, sharp canines Sothis revealed when she smiled at her...

And something akin to terror filled her eyes.

Dimitri blinked a few times, wondering if he was imagining it. Yet no – Atra gazed at the benevolent mother of Fodlan with pure, mortal _fear_, whatever message she'd come to deliver dead in her throat as she shook in place – frozen to the spot.

“What's happened?” Sothis asked, standing up. “What's frightened you so?”

Atra didn't respond at first, pressing her shaking fingers into her palms. Dimitri stood up as well, genuinely fearing the other girl was having a fit of some sort. The burned girl flinched when he touched her shoulder, but seeing him jolted her a bit. “Kronya,” She whispered in a rasp, still trembling.

Sothis frowned. “So she has come back.” She frowned, something dark and _powerful _flickering through her eyes. “...I'm sorely tempted to handle this matter myself...” Those words drew a violent _full-body flinch _from Atra; Dimitri kept a steadying hand on her, _what on earth is wrong with you? _“...but I don't think Byleth would forgive me for doing so without permission.” She sighed. “Agh, I so loathe not having a body of my own. I'll wake her while we go and find the others...since I'm assuming either Claude or Yuri sent you.”

The goddess then placed both hands on Atra's shoulders. The girl squeezed her eyes shut as though bracing for a mortal blow...

...only to go completely still when – instead of whatever she'd been expecting – Sothis gently kissed her temple. “Be at peace, brave one.” she said soothingly. “Lead us to Claude now; then we'll _attend_ to Kronya.”

Atra blinked twice and stared disbelievingly for a few moments as Sothis released her and picked up the Sword of the Creator from the foot of Byleth's bed. Then she gave her head a violent shake and nodded vehemently, her hands still trembling. “R-Right.”

Sothis put up the hood of Byleth's coat, sweeping her long hair beneath it. Then she followed Atra out of the room, gesturing for Dimitri to follow. Shaking his head, the prince put aside the girl's strange reaction to the goddess (_Claude probably knew what that was all about. He'd been the one to tell him what Atra had revealed about Agartha) _and hurried to keep up, any tiredness left over completely banished.

They ran through the mostly empty hallways of the monastery and out through one of the side entrances; after a minute, they reached the empty knight's hall to find Claude and Yuri standing by the fireplace, talking in low and serious tones.

“There you ar-” Claude started, only to break off in surprise when he saw Sothis's face. Yuri, meanwhile, made a noise like he'd been sucker punched. Briefly Dimitri remembered that the violet-eyed teen hadn't been one of the few originally entrusted with this secret before dismissing the reaction; they'd fill him in later. “Hi, I wasn't expecting you. Is Byleth-?”

“Waking up,” Sothis responded easily, as Atra trotted over to Yuri and discreetly more-or-less hid behind him. “She was sleeping quite deeply, so give me a minute...” The goddess closed her eyes for a moment, before saying, “So where is Kronya?”

“Out in the Sealed Forest. Just wandering about like she's hiking the trails.” Yuri responded sourly.

“...It's a trap...” Dimitri ventured when he saw Claude's expression.

“Oh yeah,” The brunette responded darkly. “Definitely. The good news is, she didn't see us, but we saw her...so she doesn't know that we know it's a trap.”

Sothis shivered; with a flash of light, her image shimmered and vanished, leaving a trembling and tense Byleth in her place. Her eyes, however, retained the golden-green light; a sign that Sothis was alert and listening intently.

“What does that mean for us?” She asked, her voice flat and dead but for the undercurrent of seething rage that made Dimitri instinctively flinch back.

“That we're going to take that trap of hers and turn it into a snare, not just for her but for her backup.” Claude responded firmly. His eyes burned like emerald flames; it was both hypnotic and a little frightening. “Yuri, Balthus, Constance, Hapi, Atra and the mercenaries are going to hide in the forest while we – that's the Deer and the Lions – ” Dimitri smiled faintly, while both his father and stepmother looked on approvingly. “-follow you into the forest and take out the first wave. Teach, Kronya will undoubtedly lead you away and do her best to bait you. Don't loose your head while fighting her, alright? I won't be far away, but I don't want you to risk getting cut by an Obsidian Dagger.”

Byleth nodded tightly without speaking.

“They – the Emperor and Thales – want you gone more than anything,” Claude said. “So the trap will almost certainly be sprung as soon as you kill her, or she -supposedly- manages to separate you from us. So when that happens?”

“That's where we come in,” Yuri finished, lazily spinning a black dagger around his fingers. Atra winced a bit and touched his arm, muttering 'please don't play with that. You're scaring me just watching you'. Dimitri stared at the strange weapon for a second before realizing he recognized it – this was the weapon that killed Jeralt. An Obsidian Dagger... “We come in, round up the reinforcements, and water the forest with their blood.”

“Though while we're doing that, getting any information that we can would be welcome.” Claude added, rolling his shoulder. “This isn't just about revenge; it's a riddle. Kronya and Thales can do what we do because they scuttle around in the shadows – it's time we shine a light on those roaches and pin them down.”

“Fine. But I want Kronya.” Byleth said flatly.

Claude gave her a concerned and pained look. “Of course. But Teach – Byleth – “ She twitched and softened just a bit at the sound of her name. “-don't loose your head. Promise you'll be careful?”

“...I promise,” She said, the glow in her eyes flickering.

“Thank you.” Claude clapped his hands together. “Let's round up the others and fill them in. Keep a low profile, though – I don't think Lady Rhea would feel up to giving this mission the all-clear.”

* * *

“The sun's getting low...” Annette noted in concern as the group of armed teenagers walked through the twisting pathways of the sealed forest. The trees were still, and it was eerily quiet – no birdsong, no animals darting to and fro among the bushes. _Which means they've been scared away some time ago...demonic beasts? These monsters seem quite fond of them. _Dimitri fingered the length of the blessed lance his class had won from the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. It would have weighed down Sylvain or Ingrid...but he was a Blaiddyd. He could swing it as though it were a regular iron lance. “How much daylight do we have left?”

“An hour,” Felix said, drumming his fingers against his sword. “We're cutting it a bit fine here.”

“We don't have much of a choice,” Ingrid noted morosely. “They set the stage on their terms, just like at Remire.”

“The forest is too quiet,” Marianne murmured. Her eyes were a bit glazed, focusing on something far away. “The Forest of Beasts sounds like this all the time. Still and silent until suddenly, something is rushing towards you...”

“You've gone near the forest?” Ignatz asked his friend nervously.

“...Once,” Marianne admitted quietly, her tone bleak as though confessing to a great sin. “...It was terrifying.” She didn't elaborate. The tremor in her voice ensured that no one asked her to.

Sylvain's horse nickered anxiously. The redhead ruffled his mane, warily panning the forest with his gaze. “I don't see anything...but there's not a lot of room to fight here. Do you see anything up ahead, Leonie?”

“...There's an open plain up ahead,” Leonie said tensely. Her knuckles were white on her bow as she gazed straight ahead. Walking in step next to her, Bernadetta looked a bit more nervous, but was otherwise shockingly resolute. She wasn't holding the reigns at all; she was controlling her horse solely with her legs and holding her killer bow and two arrows in her hands. “It leads out into two paths, each wide enough for two carriages side by side...”

“That's probably it.” Byleth said emotionlessly. “Is everyone ready?”

“Yeah,” Raphael promised solemnly, planting his silver gauntlets together with a _clang. _

Marianne hummed in agreement, her hands glowing with soft blue light. Lysithea tugged on the hood of the dark blue coat that hid her body armor from enemy eyes, glaring straight ahead. Flayn stuck her chin out, a total lack of fear in her eyes, and declared, “It is time to repay the kindness of the professor who saved my life.”

“I will get our revenge,” Leonie bit out as they approached the field. “No matter what.” Ingrid made a noise of agreement, which caused Glenn to look sideways at her with a strange expression. Dimitri had seen it before, and suspected he was trying to remember something...if he knew that it was odd for Ingrid to express such sentiments.

“You will get what you seek,” Marianne said, quiet but firm and – and cold. Dimitri glanced her way and – for a moment, he could have sworn he saw her eyes glow.

Ashe shivered, shifting his quiver as he looked around. “I'm not the only one who feels like we're being watched...am I?”

Claude snorted. “No...it's not just you. Remember, this isn't just about revenge, but information. Stick to the plan and stick together.”

Byleth didn't seem to acknowledge that. She lead the way into the clearing, Sword of the Creator in hand, looking for all the world like a hungry predator.

The rest of them were hardly given a chance to follow her before the forest shuddered and snarls – now so familiar thanks to their constant experience with it – shattered the silence. The ground shuddered as a demonic beast emerged from the forest on the far left; the same elongated, patchwork monstrosity from a month ago. Another roar came from further away, seemingly from the right; “How kind of them to greet us with some demonic beasts,” Claude snarked as he went to Byleth's side; as Dimitri joined them, archers and mages emerged from the trees from in front of them, the left and the right. The neighing of horses sounded from the far left, further away from the beast. Emerging from the right were an archer, and men armed with hammers and magic. Dimitri could hear laughter amid the trees, and felt his blood begin to boil.

Then there was a rustle, and a slender figure emerged from the trees...

Kronya's 'Monica' disguise melted away like dissolving shadows as she – there were no other words for it – _strutted _forward, a bounce in her step like a warped parody of ballet. There were a number of knives strapped to her hourglass hips, and one in her hand; black as night and glowing just like the one Atra had given Yuri. Dimitri grimaced and remembered the former's dire warnings about what would happen if any of them got stabbed by that blade.

Oddly enough, Kronya didn't _look _much like her sister. They had the same color eyes, but that's where the similarities ended; Kronya's spiky, bleached red hair cut short and was shorter by comparison. Her skin was white as marble, ghost-like and uncanny to look at. Her smile was twisted in comparison; Atra's small, fleeting expressions of emotion were soft and sad, while Kronya was full of malice.

“Hello, you're here!” Kronya cheered, clapping her hands together. “Welcome to the forest of _death._” Her grin grew wider, more maniac. “My name is Kronya. That weakling girl was just a borrowed look for me. _This _is what I really look like.”

Byleth didn't retort with words; she swung the sword wide into a whip form. Kronya jumped to the side, dodging the blow and giggling. “Now, you vermin...I'm going to kill every last one of you. Who should I start with? One of the runts? A pretty boy? Decisions, decisions. Oooh, I know!” She pointed over at Ignatz, a dozen yards away from her. “A weakling.”

Byleth snarled and hurtled forward, swinging the sword again. Kronya dodged again and retreated into the forest, cackling. Claude rush after her, and that caused the Agarthans to begin moving towards them.

Dimitri cursed; torn between trying to go after Kronya as well or managing the battlefield. After a few seconds of indecision, he turned his horse to the right and faced down the demonic beast storming toward his classmates. _Look after Byleth, Claude. _

Lysithea was way ahead of him, however. She raised a hand and cast Seraphim across the grassy field, hitting the beast right in its elongated mouth. It screeched, the magic barrier over its skin melting away where the spell had splattered across its nose. Dimitri drove his horse past her, coming as close as he dared and then stabbed it through the nose down into its mouth with the blessed lance.

The flesh sizzled and burned away, turning into black mist. The monster screeched again, throwing its head back; Dimitri was nearly thrown off his horse before he wrenched the lance free. He retreated a bit as Ingrid swooped in, throwing a javelin at its neck. As it staggered backwards, Lysithea stepped forward and cast Seraphim again; this time, the holy magic ripped a hole in the beast's chest that exposed most of its ribcage.

Spinning the lance in hand, Dimitri urged his horse forward again and rammed the lance through the opening and into its heart, wincing at the spray of black blood that rushed out like a geyser. The demonic beast crashed to the ground, shuddering in its death throes. Moments later, it stopped moving; most of its body crumbled into dust, reverting back to a teenage boy with a bloody gut wound.

...and maybe the low light was playing tricks on him...but Dimitri could have sworn he had ghostly pale skin just like Kronya...

One of the enemy horsemen charged straight for him, only to catch an arrow to the chest and fall from his mount. Bernadetta quickly drew again, tapping anxiously against her horse's flank to urge him to turn. Ignatz and Flayn both stepped up to protect her; Ignatz took several shots at the approaching horsemen while Flayn prepared Rescue; moments later, the spell brought Felix over from where he'd been fighting.

His blue-haired friend didn't need any encouragement; he darted to the side and then leapt up while the horseman was passing by. He grabbed the man by the arm and forcibly pulled him down to the ground, letting him drop with a painful-sounding _thud_. Flayn promptly set his leathers on fire, causing him to scream and let go of his weapons.

Slinging the blessed lance over his shoulder – it had done its job for the moment; Dedue and Glenn were handling the other one – Dimitri reached a hand up and caught the javelin Ingrid had dropped for him. Then he ducked under a Miasma spell and threw the weapon back at the new annoyance. The dark mage tried to move out of the way, but his attempt to escape put him straight into Sylvain's crosshairs. The redhead swung his ax down and dropped the enemy with one fell swoop.

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder to the right, looking for how the others were doing.

Raphael charged forward and full-body tackled an archer, knocking him to the ground before stomping on him and kicking his bow away. Glenn drove his sword through the head of the Demonic beast, which was surrounded by Lorenz, Leonie, Dedue and Hilda who had managed to box it in. Annette was throwing fireballs at an armored knight who was trying to approach Marianne, while the blue-haired girl was preoccupied casting Silence on enemy mages. A commotion caught his attention; glancing back straight forward, Dimitri saw a number of archers approaching them and taking aim.

“Arrows!,” he warned the others, pulling on the reigns and taking cover behind some trees and brush to obstruct the enemy's aim.

Fortunately, his voice carried over the general chaos of the battlefield; Mercedes quickly darted after him while Lysithea was swept off the ground by Ingrid, joining the blonde astride her pegasus. The arrows meant for them whisked harmlessly through the air; Felix got hit in the thigh, causing him to drop to one knee and cuss profusely.

“Felix!” Bernadetta cried out in concern. The enemy that had hit the swordsman moved forward for the kill; however, he quickly had to break and run when he noticed the horse barreling straight towards him. Not that it helped him; Bernadetta's crest flashed in ghostly light and a hail of arrows shot him down from behind.

Mercedes raised her hand, her own crest glowing as she cast Physic. Felix gave his head a shake before pulling the arrow out; the healing took hold of him immediately afterwards. Bernadetta jumped off her horse and babbled at him in concern; he waved her off, looking both aggravated and embarrassed. He didn't shout at her to leave him alone, though; another sign of their strange friendship.

Dimitri smiled in relief before turning straight ahead again. More mages...he nudged his horse into a trot, grabbing one of the javelins from the ground as he moved past it.

The mage who had been targeting Sylvain didn't see him coming; the javelin caught him in the shoulder and sent him crashing to the ground. When the marble-skinned man looked up and saw Lysithea approaching him, he made a strange face...then foam bubbled out through his teeth, and he collapsed stone-still against the dirt ground.

_...He killed himself...!?_

_What does it matter? _Patricia asked scornfully. _Either way, he's burning in the eternal flames as he so deserved. Shouldn't you be finding Byleth?_

Shaking his head, Dimitri nudged his horse forward and followed the trail deeper into the sealed forest. There weren't nearly enough enemies to truly hamper the two classes; not right now, anyway. It seemed Kronya hadn't tried to spring the trap yet...were Claude and Byleth having trouble with her-?

An armored knight burst out of the woods, trying to cut his horse down with an ax. Dimitri cursed as the animal reared back, twisting in order not to fall. He grabbed his silver lance and rammed it into the knight's helmet. The armor crumbled under his strength, dropping the man like a stone. Looking around the field, Dimitri quickly found what he was looking for.

* * *

Byleth was chasing a bloody Kronya like a wolf on the hunt. The assassin tried to take a swipe at her with the black dagger – only for an arrow to whisk out of the trees and shoot the weapon right out of her hand, sending it spinning into the grass. She started to shriek in outrage, but was brutally cut off by the Sword of the Creator striking and wrapping around her leg; the blades cut into her skin and burned her as Byleth wrenched her off of her feet.

Kronya spat, “you little...” she reached for another dagger, only for the relic sword to whip by again and slicing into her wrist. She cried out, scrambling to stand up; she nearly crumbled from the pain of her savaged leg.

Byleth didn't speak. Dimitri ruffled the mane of his horse, retreating into the treeline and looking around the open field for any sign of more enemies. The area itself was odd; there was what looked like an old ritual meeting place, with four stone pillars and a wide marble stone platform. There was a large hill right behind this place, and a strange series of symbol in the dirt on that wall. Shadows from evening light hid anything and anyone who might have been standing there. No sign of the enemy...though they had to be there somewhere.

“Not possible...” Kroyna muttered fervently, staggering backward as she stared at her opponent. “Not possible...”

Byleth said a couple of words that Dimitri couldn't understand; green light flared from her eyes. Kronya made a strangled noise and stumbled backward again.

“I can't loose...to a lowly creature like you!” Kronya hissed as she shakily lifted up a familiar dagger. “I am...a perfect human being...! I am the pinnacle of human transfiguration! I can't-! I can't loose here! Not to you!”

Byleth snarled and dropped the Sword of the Creator, then tackled Kronya down to the ground. The dagger dropped to the ground, but not for long – Byleth snatched it up, grabbing Kronya's head and smashing it down before driving the dagger into her chest.

Then again. And again. And again.

Kronya's body writhed as Byleth wrenched the blade out; the metal hissed, and steam billowed out from the blade as the blue-haired girl as her enemy screamed in agony. The smell of rot began to fill the still air, making Dimitri wince. Byleth dropped the dagger and watched, shivering, as Kronya thrashed and slowly expired in unimaginable pain.

"Mo...ther..." The murderer gasped, suddenly sounding almost like a child. "Mo...ther...please..."

_That's horrific..._

_How many people has she killed that way, I wonder? _His father snorted. _This is precisely what she deserves, son. Watch. _

Byleth slowly put her hand on the Creator's Sword, pulling it close as Kronya twitched, whimpered and finally expired.

For a moment, all was quiet again...then, Byleth's shivers grew more pronounced, and that silence was broken by soft sobs. Dimitri's heart wrenched; he glanced over to the side and saw Claude stepped out of the trees a few yards away from him, gesturing for him to stay where he was.

Then it happened.

There was a familiar flash of light – Rewarp, Atra called it; an inverted version of Warp that transported the mage themselves across vast distances rather than a target – and Solon appeared several feet away from Byleth, both hands spread to the side. “Poor creature,” He sneered. “Foolish little reptile. Do you really think you've won?”

Dimitri hissed as dark magic sprang up all around the area, forming crashing black waves that cut him and Claude off from Byleth. Solon drew his arms back. “It's time to end your vile interference over humanity once and for all...”

Byleth looked up at him...and though he couldn't see her face, Dimitri suspected she was smirking through her tears. “I don't know about that,” She retorted quietly.

The sound of a blade cutting through flesh was glorious in that moment.

Yuri faded into view right behind Solon, his sword buried through the man's back and coming out through his chest. “I think that's check,” The Savage Mockingbird said smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers are fun, aren't they? (chuckles)
> 
> I knew things were going to start going sideways here (in other words, hope you guys aren't too attached to canon - its days are numbered!) and I hope this served as a pleasant surprise before the cooldown month before That Revelation happens. I'm looking forward to it. 
> 
> (evil author snickering)


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude deals with some of their mysterious enemies and suddenly gets blindsided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Another chapter already? ...The muse is most generous.

Claude relished the utter disbelief on Solon's face as he gurgled, writhing on the edge of Yuri's blade. Unfortunately the rest of his reinforcements were warping in even as the twisted old man dripped blood out of his mouth and died, slumping to the ground as Yuri wrenched his sword free.

Byleth got to her feet as he and Dimitri rushed to her side; the others charged up the two pathways to join them. It was a sign of how _comprehensive _Byleth's training was that no one looked seriously injured or even really that scruffy; Leonie was smirking wickedly as she and Lorenz pulled their horses to a stop as two _more _Demonic Beasts warped down – once again on either side of the plains.

“How many of these damned things are there?” Leonie groused, a faint green tinge to her cheeks.

“Far too many,” Atra's voice flitted out from the woods; seconds before a wall of fire blasted across the field and smashed into a mounted knight who had been charging toward Yuri and Solon. The man caught ablaze and fell from his horse, which bolted from the field. A moment later the swordswoman darted out of the trees, swinging the flaming blade again; this time it was to counter the ball of fire the Demonic Beast. A moment later, Bolting rained down from the sky and smashed into the Demonic Beast's back; the impact drove it into the ground. Hapi emerged from the trees next, astride the back of a majestic black horse, and cast Banshee from one outstretched hand. The spell tore a hole clean through the beast's throat, killing it and causing it to dissolve into dust.

Almost as soon as Hapi appeared on the battlefield, the other Demonic Beast charged right out of its formation straight toward her. Judging by the alarmed yells from the Agarthan soldiers, that was not what they expected or wanted; whatever instinct it was chasing was overriding whatever means they had to control it.

Byleth moved to intercept it, but it wasn't necessary. Balthus, Robb and Hug all burst out of the trees on that side of the clearing; Balthus jumped straight onto the beast's back and grabbed onto one of the protrusions of its spine, hammering blows from his blazing gauntlets onto its back. Robb and Hugo split up with ease and attacked either side, slashing at limbs and at the stomach; Hannah, flying overhead with Constance, slung a bow off of her back and fired anti-beast arrowheads at its head.

Rubbing her eyes clear, Byleth swung the sword of the creator. The whip blade dug into one of the craters Balthus had smashed in its back and tore the beast's flesh open to the point of almost bisecting the damned creature. Balthus cheered and bounced clear before the body crumbled.

“Shall we clean up?” Claude asked cheekily, watching enviously as Constance flew in an elegant loop before casting Fire down on some poor pathetic fool. _I need to pass that damn flyer exam – tomorrow, if it's open. I'm sick of being grounded! Ivory, I miss you so goddess-damned much. _

Yuri just smirked. “It wouldn't do to sit on our laurels; that breeds complacency.”

So forward they went. Claude noticed Marianne slip away from Ignatz and Ashe, one hand pressed against her chest and eyes glowing blue. She didn't look hurt, but she did seem distressed as she made her way into the brush for cover as she prepared a healing spell for Balthus – who's just caught an arrow to the arm. Frowning, Claude glanced over toward Byleth. Dimitri ahead of her, providing support and cover for her. _I can spare a minute. What's going on with you, my friend..._

Disoriented and fighting just-worse-than-equal odds (_had they expected to just catch the golden deer, or is our spy savvy enough to know that Dimitri would come along as well? Too bad for them, they weren't expecting Yuri and Abyss._) the Agarthans rallied nonetheless and formed into parties aiming specifically for their horses and the more physically vulnerable members of the team – the mages. Dedue jumped in front of an arrow volley aimed at Mercedes, thankfully catching all of them on his not-inconsiderable body armor and thus taking no serious damage. Hapi immediately retaliated by rushing by and casting Banshee on the lead archer, leaving him a sitting duck for Yuri to teleport by and backstab him.

Meanwhile, Bernadetta and Felix were working together very well; Bernadetta forced mages out of formation with a hail of arrows while Felix sliced through armored knights with the help of his crest, while Ashe cleaned up anyone they missed.

On the other side, Ignatz was providing cover for Flayn, who was both healing and fighting with much more ferocity than when she first entered Byleth's care. Cutting Gale flew from her hands, knocking down two knights who had been tromping towards them. Ignatz cheered her on while using both his bow and the Wo Do he'd gotten as a gift from the Abyss.

Claude shot down another archer when rustling in the bushes caught his attention. He turned around and cussed in his native tongue – he couldn't stop himself – upon seeing a brawler charging directly for Marianne. He spun on his heel and threw his knife, but despite the weapon digging into his shoulder the man didn't stop his charge.

Marianne gasped, her eyes widened, and then-

There was a flare of Crest magic. And Marianne's arms, brought up to defend herself, changed.

Black scales burst into existence over her pale flesh. Her fingers elongated and transformed into massive claws, grabbing the gauntlet and crushing it (and the hand within) dead like it was a piece of tin. Her hand warped, becoming bigger and turning into paws; Marianne brought her free arm down on enemy shoulders – Claude heard something _crack _and saw it slide out of place – and let out a feral snarl, revealing that her mouth was now full of dagger like sharp teeth. As the man was dropped to the ground, Marianne stepped back, a pale white crest floating over her head... and then her _head _warped, gaining curved horns, scales, blood red eyes and a _roar _that shook his bones and the ground beneath him. Then she opened her jaw – full of dagger teeth and a long, lolling forked tongue – and breathed out orange-red flame onto her faltering target. The screech he let out was unholy, before breaking down to a gurgle before stopping completely at the body was burnt beyond recognition.

You wouldn't know it was human. It just looked like a piece of meat.

The Crest's light continued to glow ominously as Marianne swung her around toward him. Her hands hung down by her side, comically mis-sized for her human frame, and her red, solid-colored eyes fixed on him with a predator's intensity. She cocked her head, a low demonic growl rumbling in the depths of her throat.

It was like seeing Miklan transform – only it hadn't gone through the whole way, leaving a gruesome amalgamation in place of his friend. And that strange, unfamiliar Crest? Claude had been puzzling over it for a few months now.

_Maurice..._

“Marianne?” He asked cautiously, taking a step backward.

His friend swayed, that growl still deep in her throat. She didn't move, though. She stood still as a statue, staring. Claude was sharply reminded of adult wyverns crouching up on the cliff-side, watching deer or bison running through the fields below. Waiting for the right moment...choosing a meal.

“Marianne...it's me...” He didn't dare move. Was Marianne faster in this state? Usually he could outrun her any day, but usually she couldn't casually pulp a human being by closing her fist. “Can you hear me?”

Marianne's eyes narrowed.

Unfortunately, they weren't the only people on the field. Claude's vision suddenly went white with pain when a blast of Miasma caught him in the side, throwing him to the ground. He wasn't even given time to curse himself. Seconds later he heard a loud snarl, footsteps, a shocked scream and then a heavy _thud_. Lifting his head, he saw those claws tearing open a dark mage's chest with no more effort than cracking a peanut, the man's horrific scream cut off by Marianne's beastly form tearing his heart out and crushing it.

Marianne snarled again, prowling around the body so she was positioned in front of him – between him and the other two mages he'd completely forgotten about in the face of her transformation. Magic splashed against her head and arms, seemingly not doing much of anything to her. But since the spells were hitting her, they weren't hitting him...

Then Marianne picked up the body one handed by the throat and threw it forward. There was a _thud _followed by her snarling again and lunging forward in a blur. Fighting through the vertigo and nausea he was feeling, Claude propped himself up on one hand and pushed a leg underneath himself.

His friend was smashed a mage's skull into the ground like it was grape with one hand. She wove around a mounted knight and then _charged _at the horse itself, slamming her clawed hands into its side. The impact threw the animal down, and Marianne breathed a hot stream of fire at the man who had been riding it. He could smell the flesh cooking, which made him flinch.

And she was _still _changing...! The scales traveled down the back of her neck, her shoulders stretching and growing broader as spines burst through her shirt. Her shoes were torn apart as her feet warped into reptile-esque claws. She still kept a general human shape, and didn't seem to be transforming into a four-legged form, but she looked more beast-like than anything...

Another mage popped out of the woods and pointed at him. Before Claude could even start to respond to that, Marianne spun around and breathed fire at him as well; as the man fell screaming to the ground, she prowled out in front of him, hissing and snarling at his thrashing form.

She was circling him. The prince's brain scrambled to make sense of this scenario in front of him; and some part of him noted that wyverns would prowl like this when they were guarding a fresh meal...or protecting a pack member.

“...Marianne?” Claude tried again, cautiously taking a step toward her.

His friend...the half beast...straightened up slowly, her head twisting to stare at him. Her solid eyes were unreadable, and she was yet to say a single comprehensible word. Claude fought against half a lifetime of training and forced his shoulders to relax, dropping his hand away from his quiver. “Do you...recognize me?” She didn't answer; but her growls quieted in volume, and she fully turned in place to fully face him. “...Can you understand me?”

“Claude!” Ignatz's horrified voice abruptly reminded him that they were _not _the only two people on the battlefield.

Marianne whipped around, eyes scanning the trees as her shoulders rose like a cat flaring their hackles. Claude cursed in panic as a familiar white light filled the trees.

“Lysithea, _**don't**_!” He shouted; the words were seconds too late however. Marianne – perhaps sensing his alarm – managed enough of a dodge that the spell only glanced her, but it left a horrific burn on her shoulder and she let out a furious shriek. Then she bolted directly for the trees with mind-boggling speed, between which both Ingatz and Lysithea were plainly visible.

Claude had a split second to make a decision. Throwing himself after her, he managed to catch up by the skin of his teeth when she was mere feet away from Ignatz – claws extended – and threw both of his arms around her along with all his weight. Marianne staggered and dropped to her knees; Claude frantically leaned on her, and desperately repeated, “Lysithea, don't, it's Mari-”

He wasn't given a chance to finish; Marianne rolled _hard _onto the ground, smashing him beneath her and swiping at him with her massive paws(?) – but her claws were retracted. The impacts were bruising, but Claude hung on for dear life. Or else-

A blaze of orange light out of the corner of his eye gave him a shot of terrified adrenaline.

He dug deeply into his Crest, drawing on the energy that he had been stockpiling throughout the battle. With a grunt of exertion, he shoved the beastly form of his friend off of his chest and threw himself over her chest, doing his best to pin her arms. Then he looked up at his Heart – charging at them, relic sword aimed directly at her transformed student – and desperately yelled, “Byleth, don't! Stop! This is Marianne!”

Byleth skidded to a halt, Sword still at the ready. She stared wide-eyed at the dragon-like creature he was struggling with. “_What?_” She choked out after a few seconds.

Marianne abruptly stopped struggling when her eyes settled on the Sword of the Creator. Claude scrambled off of her but kept pressure on her shoulders. “It's her, I swear” He insisted breathlessly. “I saw her transforming – right before it happened I saw a Crest - “

Marianne cut him off with what sounded like an anxious keening noise. She shrank back toward Claude, poised as though to flee as she stared rigidly at the relic weapon. Blindly taking a shot in the dark from her earlier behavior, Claude brushed his hand against his friend's scaled forehead. “It's alright, Mari. It's over, they're gone, see? We're safe, everyone here is safe.”

He frantically waved a hand at Byleth and a stupefied-looking Dimitri, mouthing out 'put the weapons away, trust me'. Hesitantly, they both complied. He looked down at Marianne, who was crouched in place and holding very still. “That was Lysithea just now. She didn't mean to hurt you; she was confused, she didn't realize it was you.” Slowly, her horned head twisted to stare at the white-haired girl, who was gaping at her. “Everyone's safe. You don't have to protect us anymore. So...so try and relax, okay?”

Byleth took a step forward, paused, and then sank to her knees in front of them; Dimitri made an abortive gesture to stop her, but chose not to. “Marianne?” She asked softly. “Marianne...it's me. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you.”

Marianne was still except for deep, shuddering breaths. Then, after a painfully long silence...there was a flash of light. That mysterious Crest flickered in the air above her; in a rush of air, the scales, claws and warped limbs melted away. Everyone stood around her, watching as this horrifying figure transform back into the slender priestess-in-training they all knew. Her clothes were ripped and in tatters; her shoes were basically ruined, and her shirt was held together somewhat precariously by a number of threads at her shoulders.

Sylvain let out a small strangled sound; a moment later, he flailed a bit and awkwardly shrugged off the heavy coat he'd been wearing over his armor. Then he speed-walked over to her and wrapped the black cloth around Marianne's shoulders, concealing her sporadically exposed shoulders and chest from prying eyes.

Marianne clutched the fabric with both hands, and before anyone could attempt to ask anything of her...she began to weep.

It wasn't the out-of-control bawling that Byleth had let out in response to loosing her father; it was the quiet, resigned despair of someone who had accepted their fate.

* * *

“It's called the Crest of the Beast.”

Confused noises echoed through the Golden Deer classroom. Claude shifted a bit on the bench he was sitting on, watching Marianne and waiting for her to continue. The blue-haired girl was sitting on top of a desk, Sylvain's cloak still around her, head hanging in defeat.

Thank Sothis for Hannah; she'd waylaid Seteth, Alois and Gilbert with the rest of the mercenaries with the promise of providing a cover story for them. She'd been the one who'd reminded him that his initial plan – to claim that the two classes had decided to have a friendly spar – would be much more easily accepted if they had adult overseers due to security concerns. The mercs Byleth had grown up with seemed to him to be in better spirits with their captain avenged, cheerfully trotting up to a frazzled-looking Seteth with reassurances and explanations aplenty. Claude had initially assumed at this point that the classes – having hidden bloody clothing and hastily cleaned their weapons before returning – would simply disperse to bed now that night was upon them...

...Of course, now a completely different horror story was suddenly thrust on them.

Dimitri, Felix, Yuri, Atra, Sylvain and Ashe – the few outside of the Golden Deer who had seen Marianne's macabre temporary transformation – were there as well. They were all worried about her; Atra was leaning against a pillar, her eyes both compassionate and uneasy as she examined Marianne. Sylvain, meanwhile, was sitting on Marianne's right next to Hilda, encouraging her whenever she stalled for too long.

_You're not so bad after all, are you Silvy? _Claude thought with a faint smile.

Hopefully smiling would reassure Marianne a little bit...

“Nemesis and the Ten Elites had one more ally when they reforged Fodlan into an independent kingdom,” Marianne said quietly. “His name was Maurice; he was the youngest of them, the fiercest; he was loyal to Nemesis as the man who saved his life.” She lowered her head and stared distantly at her hands. “But one day...Maurice transformed into a monster, and slaughtered innocent people. He rampaged across what would eventually become the Leicester Alliance before disappearing...”

_...So Lamine, despite her goddess-given powers, couldn't help him despite her clear and obvious desire to? _Claude thought back to those letters. _Why is that, I wonder...?_

“People turned against Maurice in the aftermath...he was written out of history, and his whole clan was conquered. Or, at least...so they believed.” Marianne turned her hand up, letting the image of her Crest flicker in the air for a moment before dismissing it. “Maurice's two daughters managed to survive the purge...my family line is descended from one of them.”

“...The cursed bloodline...” Lysithea shook her head in disbelief. “But that's just a myth, a tall tale used to remind crest-bearers of their responsibilities, it's-” She stalled, swallowing hard.

Marianne shook her head faintly. “They say that doom and despair follow those who bear the Crest... and it's true... those who inherit the Major Crest – like my father and I – can invoke the power of demonic beasts, transform our bodies, and impress our will upon them. But eventually...we loose control of it, and we -” She buried her head in her knees, shuddering. Small sobs drifted through the air for a moment.

Hilda immediately grabbed her arm and murmured worriedly at her. Meanwhile, all the blood had drained out of Byleth's face as she rapidly came to the same conclusion that was making Claude's stomach sink.

“...I hoped that I could suppress it...” Marianne whispered. “That maybe if I never used it, I could buy myself a little more time. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...I never wanted to put any of you in danger...”

“Marianne, you _saved _me,” Claude objected, unable to keep from cutting in. She raised her head slightly. “Even after you shifted, you never attacked me. No, you actually _protected _me when those mages got the drop on us. Everything after that was an accident.”

“When my father first started transforming, he protected me to. It doesn't...I can't...” Marianne broke down into quiet sobs halfway through the sentence, shaking her head. “I am cursed. I've carried that curse from the day I was born. I wanted...I just wanted more _time..._”

Byleth's eyes were glowing; her hands were clenched tightly into fists, so she and Sothis had to be having some sort of animated conversation. “You'll have time,” The professor said after a moment. “We'll make you time.”

Marianne trembled and peeked up at their professor from underneath her bangs. Claude's heart twisted painfully at the look in her eyes. A little spark of hope flickering in and out of a sea of despair that had not been disturbed in a long time. He knew – perhaps not as well as her, but he knew all the same – that there was a strange and cold comfort in despair; a sort of peace that allowed you to pass out of the reach of any further pain. But even the slightest hope, no matter how fragile or irrational, destroyed that small comfort; instead of giving you joy or happiness it filled you with dread. To have hope yet being too afraid to reach for it was a unique kind of torture from which there was no healing.

“...A few years ago, I found the diary of one of my ancestors...” The blue haired girl whispered. “She was happily engaged to the crown prince of Faerghus, beautiful, kind and loved, and she managed to hide her crest for most of her life. But her transformations began soon after they started courting...until, two nights before their wedding, she came back to herself only to realize she attacked and almost killed the love of her life in the thralls of her beast form...”

Dimitri swallowed hard, something flickering across his face. Recognition? Or at least strong suspicion?

“...the last line she wrote in that book was a warning for her niece, who had the minor crest...to tell her children, if they inherited the Major blood, to choose to fall while there was still enough human left in them to die.” Marianne shook her head. “She jumped from the tower of Garreg Mach.”

Flayn let out a wracking sob, burying her face in her hands. Raphael looked horribly shaken, while Hilda hauled herself up onto the table to wrap Marianne in a tight, protective and fearful hug – as if fearing her best friend would suddenly produce a knife and follow her ancestor's advice right there in front of them.

“In Faerghus, the story went that a demonic beast had attacked them both.” Dimitri said softly. “It was suspected that his father, who disapproved of the match, blamed her and drove her to jump... Prince Arden never forgave him, and never loved another woman.”

There was a faint look of wonder in Marianne's next words... “...Is that right...”

“There's no way that's a solution,” Ashe said desperately. “We can help you, Marianne. Can't we?” He gave Byleth a pleading look; _probably aimed just as much at Sothis as their professor._

“Solon had created a process to convert human beings into demonic beasts,” Atra spoke up unexpectedly. Her eyes were shinning determinedly. “His notes would be preserved in Shamballa, or possibly even hidden somewhere in Garreg Mach so he still had access to them while posing as the librarian. Perhaps examining them could give us the insight necessary to stall the transformations out, or maybe prevent them completely.”

“It couldn't hurt to look around,” Yuri agreed. He pushed himself off the pillar he'd been leaning against and nodded toward Atra. “I'll go through the Abyss's library and see if I can find anything useful among all the banned tomes that have ended up there. With the kind of stuff that's trickled in over time, there's bound to be something.”

“I'll slip into Tomas's old office as soon as I can manage.” Claude promised, rolling his lightly bruised shoulder and thinking about where those kinds of notes might be squirreled away. “I have some experience finding hideaways in spite of others best efforts.”

Felix shifted from foot to foot, clearly frustrated that he couldn't think of something to offer, while Bernadetta had gone over to Marianne and hugged her from the side. Ashe had placed a hand on the blue-haired girl's shoulder while still staring hopefully at Byleth who was approaching Marianne herself.

“Marianne...look at me,” There was a silvery echo to Byleth's voice; Sothis's light tones lingering over her deeper rumble. Marianne raised her head, revealing her tear-stained face beneath stray strands of her hair. “This is not going to be your fate. I swear it.”

Marianne smiled. It was broken and tearful and Claude could still see the fear lying underneath, the resignation to a terrible end...but it was real. Byleth put her hands on her shoulders, and Marianne clung to her like she was the only thing holding the world itself together. Hilda then glomped onto her best friend and yelled, “This hug needs more people – now!” – resulting in all the golden deer, Bernadetta included, crowding around the blue-haired 'cursed' girl and doing just that.

* * *

“So Lamine couldn't do anything...why didn't they ask Saint Cethleann for help?” Byleth wondered, frowning down at the book of letters in Claude's hands.

The hidden prince started to respond, paused, and felt his brow furrow. “...You know, that is a very good question.” He muttered, paging back to an earlier letter. It mentioned Saint Cichol in passing – albeit only referring to him as Cichol, and dropping the interesting fact that he was Cethleann's father. It seemed that Ren had a healthy respect for him, though he mentioned feeling horribly guilty for something that happened to Cethleann previously...

The two of them were sitting side-by-side on his bed, the night's shadows driven back by a number of candles. Dimitri had been reading with them originally, but a little while ago Byleth had sweetly insisted that he go get some sleep. It had taken a kiss to convince him, but he'd ultimately surrendered to her will. Claude wanted to tell Byleth to sleep as well, but he knew doing so at the moment was wholly pointless as she was fixated on learning something that might help Marianne.

“Was she busy elsewhere on the continent?” Byleth wondered, before frowning. “But Maurice has been having problems for a while...they could have just sent a letter and waited for her to respond while they contained his transformations.”

“Yeah. There's no reason she shouldn't have been able to help...unless she just chose not to, which isn't very saintly.”

“...It's the same as what happened to Marianne in the forest...” Byleth said uneasily, tapping her finger against the same passage he'd shown Dimitri down in Abyss what felt like a lifetime ago. “Lamine thinks it might be because of the blood transfusion that gave him his Crest. Sothis, do you...?” Her eyes glowed for a long moment; Claude felt hopeful for a second, only for her to shake her head. “Still nothing is coming back to you. It's okay; we'll figure it out...somehow...”

“How does a goddess get amnesia?” Claude wondered aloud. “You shouldn't get hurt the way us squishy mortals do, so it can't be the same reason Glenn's got it, right?”

Byleth's face contorted for a moment and chuckled a bit. “She says 'how should I know that if I barely know my name', in the sort of voice Edelgard uses when you get on her nerves during sparring sessions.”

Claude snickered, his heart thumping happily at the sound her brief laughter. This was the first time since Jeralt's death that she had...

“Now that you've drawn attention to it, I'm surprise Saint Serios isn't really mentioned at all in the letters we've looked at...” Byleth tilted her head. “These seem to be dated to when the Ten Elites were serving Nemesis before his fall into darkness; at least, I think they are. Isn't there something kind of strange about the way they talk about him? And who are the alchemists?”

“I'm not sure...though I'm starting to wonder...” Claude looked up at the ceiling. “Atra said that Shamballa fell beneath the earth thousands of years ago...and Solon had knowledge, powers and the ability to transform his appearance, all of which are completely unknown to us. Do you think the alchemists might have been Agarthans that decided to go to the surface for one reason or another?”

“But how would they have done that...and why?” Byleth frowned. “The men controlling Agartha think that we – the people on the surface – are animals. Actually, even that feels generous. Why would they stoop to working as subordinates to a 'surfacer'?”

Claude sighed. “I guess it's just a theory...and with how Atra's been shut out of her people's version of the history lessons, maybe she won't know either.” He looked thoughtful. “Though since she's the one who found this book, maybe she'll know more than us"

“I don't know about that,” His Teach said, her frown deepening. “I understand why Thales wouldn't admit that his ancestors had done grunt work for the fallen surface king, but why wouldn't Saint Serios and the Elites have made any historical records about a bunch of people that dangerous?”

Claude winced and gave her a rueful look. “I'm about to prove I'm not a 'properly raised faithful'...the people who write the history books often have their own agenda, By. They deliver the facts as best to suit their needs and the future stability of their kingdoms.” Seeing her confused look, he explained “Serios had just fought a decades-long bloody war against Nemesis; she wouldn't have had the time, the resources or a fully-prepared army to try and storm a whole new country. If there were Agarthans involved, they probably booked it underground after she won, and she downplayed their involvement so the people wouldn't demand they rush into another war they weren't prepared or equipped to fight. And after that, since they didn't reappear...they slipped out of our history altogether.”

Byleth hummed in comprehension. Her eyes narrowed a bit. “If I'd suspected that, I would have dragged Solon's bleeding, cowering hide back to the monastery and forced him to tell us how to help Marianne...”

“It's only a theory I'm considering right now, By,” Claude said, pulling her attention away from dark thoughts. “Even if he'd survived, I'm pretty sure he either would have bit through his tongue or tried to poison her out of spite.”

She sighed heavily, conceding his point. Claude gave her a gentle smile. “You can call it a night, you know.”

Byleth closed her eyes for a moment before nuzzling his shoulder. “I don't want to be alone,” She murmured. “It's too easy to forget that I still have people precious to me.”

“...” He turned away from the book to kiss the top of her head. “Then stay,” He said. “I can sneak you out in the morning.”

She smiled faintly, the snuggled closer to him as he moved his arm around her waist. The closeness was so warm and comforting that he felt like he was in a dream. That he'd fallen into a deep, spellbound sleep straight out of a fable, drifting into a dreamland where someone like him was loved unconditionally and without restraint. It was still hard to believe this was _real_, that they were his.

“My father was my whole world for the longest time,” Byleth said softly. There was still pain in her voice...but it was quieter, muted. “He was the only person in the world I knew that I could care about, and the only person I trusted to value me. I couldn't imagine being without him. I...I still can't, really...”

He hugged her tighter, but didn't interrupt; putting the book down on his knees, he gave her his full attention. “But...I don't want to disappear. I have you. I have Dimitri...I have the others....I'm surrounded by precious people...I...”

She curled her hands around his wrist. “...I want to live.”

“...May I kiss you, By?” Claude asked softly. She nodded, and he gently tipped her head back and kissed her sweet lips. It was soft and careful at first, but as she leaned into it, he cupped her face with his hand and slid his tongue into her mouth. She let out a little whimper that got his blood pumping in a dangerous way; he gave himself just a few seconds to explore before retreating, breaking the kiss and smiling at her. “I love you.”

Nothing in his life had ever been so true.

“C'mon,” He said, closing the book and placing it on his bedside table. Byleth blinked in confusion, then squeaked as he pulled her down onto the bed next to him. “I think that's enough for tonight.” He blew out the two candles. “Let's cuddle instead.”

She blushed and eyed him as he curled up next to her, sliding an arm over her stomach. “My intentions are purely innocent, I assure you,” He teased, batting her nose with his fingers.

It was true. Only when she'd mostly or fully emerged from her mourning would he consider intimacy, and even then he'd rather wait for her to approach him. He didn't want their first night to be a distraction from grief.

Aside from that, there were too many neighbors around this particular room.

Byleth rolled her eyes affectionately before nuzzling her head into his chest. “Good night,” She whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than I'm happy with, but I think it's content-heavy enough to be satisfying.
> 
> So Marianne has a cursed Crest? Oh, it'll be a cursed Crest all right. For reference on how her halfway beast form looks, check out Corrin's Dragon Fang ability. Just a lot less voluntary, and with a debilitating effect on poor Marianne's mind. This is the reason why the Beast Crest, despite how Fodlan worships the bloodlines, is reviled and feared - it effectively makes you a werewolf. Marianne could have been a pseudo-manateke unit in-game - albeit with some debilitating effect to show how BAD the transformation is for her. Would make you feel guilty for having her transform and fight, huh?
> 
> Also, quite note - I've started drafting new support conversations. A lot of them could serve as their own thing, but two of them are support sets for Atra and Glenn. Since they're important characters in this story, I'll be posting *concurrent with the next chapter of this* some of my C supports for either Atra or Glenn - whomever I have the most of first. The side story will be posted in the series tag, so be sure to check under it.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth wrestles with the implications of an upcoming ceremony and helps Hilda defend Fodlan's throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my computer crashed AGAIN, fortunately this chapter was not among its casualties. My support list and written-out C supports were, though. Ugh! (frowns at faithful laptop) Clearly I need to take you in and have you looked at. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm sorry I'm only delivering on half of what I promised last time, I'm going to rewrite the support log and get it up as soon as I can manage something I'm happy with.

“_You may enter.”_

_Byleth pushed the double doors to the upstairs cathedral, the sword of the creator tapping gently against her leg as she entered the brightly lit room. The first thing she noticed was that Rhea and Seteth, who were waiting for her, both looked extremely tense. Seteth was glancing at the archbishop with a harsh frown that he rapidly stowed when he turned to face her; Rhea was extremely pale, her hands closed in front of her and her usual serenity shaken. _

What have I just walked into...?_, she wondered uneasily._

_**For Seteth to be fiercely disagreeing with something Rhea decided? Something serious, **Sothis mused. **Hmph...perhaps we should be encouraging Claude to eavesdrop on this woman. **_

Do not encourage him_, Byleth chided automatically, exasperated. _What if he gets caught? _Bowing to the pair, she said. “I'm here, Lady Rhea.”_

“_I've been awaiting your arrival,” Rhea said. She looked at Byleth in a way that...was almost looking _through _her, as if she was searching for something in the girl's heart. “I'm glad to see more life in your eyes now, Professor.”_

“_Thank you.” She ducked her head and smiled, taking comfort from the words. Rhea's presence had always been warm and soothing for her; perhaps it was her soul recognizing that this was the woman who had sheltered her mother, who had made her father who he was, who had opened this wonderful home to her without reservation despite her bloody history. As strange a woman as she was, Byleth would always be grateful for that. _

“_It is a good thing that your mind is more at peace...there is something of great importance I must tell you.” Rhea said, her expression becoming somehow more serious...and more remote at the same time. _

_If she hadn't gotten used to watching Claude's body language to hear his honest thoughts, Byleth might have missed Seteth tensing up. He hid it well, but his eyes flickered over to Rhea with a wary gaze; Sothis's confusion and unease skittered across the back of Byleth's mind. She hoped it didn't show on her face._

“_I had a premonition from the goddess's heaven above,” Rhea said solemnly. “Within it, I saw you sitting upon the Her thrown and being granted a revelation.”_

_Byleth stared blankly back at her, her pulse jumping._

I...wait, w-what...? _She thought stupidly. The words made sense, but it was completely out of nowhere. How could the goddess send Rhea a message when she couldn't remember anything and was currently occupying the empty place where her heart was supposed to be. _

“_A revelation?” She asked hesitantly, schooling her face into subdued confusion. She let one hand drop to the hilt of the Creator's Sword, tapping nervously against the guard. “W-What does that mean, exactly?”_

“_I cannot say. The answers will only be revealed to you,” Rhea responded, stepping forward and gently cradling the side of her face with one hand. “I saw your students and your friends surrounding you, just as when Saint Serios was charged to rescue Fodlan from the grip of Nemesis. You are meant for greatness, Byleth. The goddess is with you.”_

** _I believe that, _ ** _Sothis noted uneasily. _ ** _But what in the world is this? _ **

“_The world has been living since the goddess left it,” Rhea murmured. “But it hasn't truly been thriving, not the way it could be. The way it should be.”_

...By 'the world', you just mean Fodlan... _Byleth realized, hesitantly touching Rhea's wrist. Hearing the words 'the world' made her think back to her previous travels with her father, with what Claude had told her, to everything that had happened the past few months. _Is this what you want me to do, Rhea? Is this what you've wanted for me since I got the relic sword?

“_I don't understand,” She whispered. _

“_You will,” Rhea promised. She pulled her into an embrace, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and ignoring Seteth's startled, abortive response to the gesture. There was something hopeful in that hug, almost desperate and full of longing. “I'm sorry you've been so confused and so lost for so long...everything will make sense very soon, I promise. I've done everything I can for you, for this moment. It will be glorious.”_

_Confusion and something akin to alarm – or even fear? – flooded Byleth's chest. _

_She felt Sothis's ghostly touch against her wrists; warm and reassuring, even as the goddess herself made an uneasy sound deep in her throat. _ ** _What is going on now...? _ **

* * *

“Professor?”

Byleth gasped as a hand on her arm shook her from her revere; she stumbled and nearly staggered into the stone wall. Bernadetta let out an alarmed 'eep!' and grabbed her sleeve, nearly letting go of her horse's reigns in the process. “I'm sorry!” The purple-haired girl squeaked as Byleth straightened up and regained her bearings. “I'm sorry, it's just, you were drifting off, and...”

“Yes, clearly.” Byleth said when she caught her breath. She moved her hand to rest atop the chest-high wall that formed the defensive barrier of the Goneril Castle. “Thank you, Bernadetta.”

She hadn't even noticed she had drifted off that deeply; which was fairly pathetic of her, given that she'd volunteered to help defend Hilda's lands from an Almyran incursion.

The news had taken her by surprise. About a day after Seteth took the Blue Lions off to deal with an attempt by the Western Church to seize holy land sacred to Saint Cichol on the Rhodos Coast, Hilda had come up to her with a letter from her brother, Holst Goneril. The Ace of the Leiscester had been dealing with a number of Almyran attacks on his castle, which held the border between the two lands, in recent times. Scouts said that there was another, bigger attack incoming, and to make matters worse Holst himself was beginning to feel ill. With their father being too old to carry arms, he'd sent a missive to his little sister asking that she and her relic-wielding Professor come and help with the defenses.

Since everything seemed calm and peaceful (for once), Byleth had agreed – albiet slightly hesitantly. She'd intended to ask both Claude and Cyril if they had wanted to sit out of the battle, but both boys had found her first and insisted on participating.

While Cyril was still not as strong as Raphael or as fast as Hilda, nor could he wield a bow like Claude, he had become a very well-rounded fighter since he joined her class months ago. Claude, meanwhile, had just laughed, teased her for worrying so much, and said '_what sort of Almyran teenager would I be if I neglected to show off the fruits of my pilgrimage? _

So with that concern nullified, she'd set out with her class, Atra, and the Ashen Wolves in tow. The week and a half trip had been surprisingly engaging for one unexpected reason – a very curious girl who'd lived her whole life underground.

_Why does Almyra have ill will toward Lord Goneril? When were the last attacks? What's the difference between a Foldan-trained wyvern rider and an Almyran one? Who rules over Almyra, and how? Their god is...dead?, how can that be? How can the country still be unified if the lords constantly bicker and fight among-st themselves so publicly? _

Atra had no end of questions for Claude and Hilda; she spoke more in the days leading up to their arrival than Byleth had ever heard before. At some point – upon seeing Claude's muted yet awestruck expression at the raven-haired girl's earnest desire to know about his other home – she'd taken the opportunity to give a lesson about her experiences in Almyra on a day-to-day basis outside of the commissions the mercenaries had taken.

Atra had listened attentively, and the lesson inadvertently pulled in the others – especially Ignatz and Raphael. Sure, it had been rather irritating to have to field Lorenz, Hilda and some of the Knights of Serios's constant surprise at how 'civilized' parts of the villager life was in the warrior kingdom, but the conversations felt surprisingly rewarding.

They also helped distract her from Rhea's confusing proclamation and the upcoming 'revelation'...

“You were really far away,” Bernadetta noted, tugging on Byleth's sleeve. “Are you thinking about what Lady Rhea said? About the goddess giving you knowledge?”

Byleth twisted and looked at her in surprise; the purple-haired girl blushed a bit and meekly explained, “I overheard Claude and Yuri talking about it when I was in the garden...I'm sorry...”

Byleth sighed, tugged her arm free and wrapped it around Bernadetta's slender shoulders. She squeaked a bit before nestling into her side, hugging her with her free arm. Her horse snorted; maybe the professor was imagining it, but it almost sounded like the horse had just snickered. “Don't apologize,” she said. “You're right. I am thinking about...the revelation.”

“...Are you scared?”

“..” Byleth opened her mouth to say she wasn't, but hesitated. Bernadetta didn't push her, though, so for a few moments, the two of them stared out across the expanse of valleys and hills that lead into Almyra itself. It was a beautiful view; trees and open valleys stretched almost as far as the eye could see. Wooden bridges connected various hills together, while deep forests hid the valley floors from view. Intellectually, Byleth knew that there were a number of Goneril soldiers posted throughout those areas, but they were hard to see from her current vantage point – concealed by the greenery and the sun in her eyes.

Her students were mostly spread out across the stone wall. Claude, Hilda and Balthus were closest to her, manning the opposite side of the entrance to the Castle. Hilda was twirling her ax absently in one hand, eyes fixed straight ahead, while Claude was leaning against the wall with an unreadable look on his face. Balthus looked more serious than usual, probably due to having visited his sick friend before stepping out to defend his keep; he was in full War Monk regalia, gauntlets at the ready. About half a dozen Goneril soldiers were with them, all of whom looked very nervous with Holst bedridden.

Down the right of the wall, Leonie, Lorenz, Ignatz, and Hapi were prowling and keeping a defensive line along with some of the church soldiers. Down the left, Raphael, Flayn, Yuri and Constance were keeping the line along with the rest of the Knights.

Meanwhile...Cyril had taken Marianne, Lysithea, and Atra down a hidden pathway he'd found when working at the estate. Byleth had been leery of this, not wanting such a small group to be separated from backup, but Cyril had insisted and pointed out that it was good tactics.

“...I think I am scared. At least a little,” Byleth admitted after some thought. The words felt strange to say aloud.

Bernadetta nodded solemnly in understanding. “It's okay, Professor. Everyone's scared sometimes.”

“I just don't understand it,” Byleth said – quietly, because the Goneril knights were within hearing range - “The goddess who she says sent the vision to her is within me. Why does Rhea believe she has a message from her?”

Bernadetta shrugged uncertainly. “I don't know. But Professor...Fodlan's in trouble.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow at that blunt assessment. Bernadetta glanced up at her, solemn as a crypt, before looking out across the field. “Shamballa has been attacking us ever since the Tragedy. They're getting ready for something; Thales believes the surface belongs to them, and when nobles think they've been denied what they're owed...” She trailed off, and closed her eyes. Byleth felt her shiver. “Something big is coming, Professor. ...I'm scared too.”

“...” Byleth patted her on the head, searching for the words to reassure her.

* * *

“_Teach! Don't startle me like that, I almost kicked your knee out of joint,” Claude said in a rush, pulling his chair up off the ground and smiling awkwardly at her. “What's the matter?”_

“_I was going to ask you that, honestly. I hadn't seen you all morning, and when I couldn't find you in the library, I got a little worried.” Byleth leaned over his shoulder to regard the letter he'd been writing at the desk in his room. “What's that?”_

“_Oh, this? A letter to gramps.” Claude gave her a little, rueful look. “Henry von Riegan, current leader of the Leisceter Alliance and the most stubborn old man you'll ever meet.”_

“_I've met him once,” Byleth remembered that, at the time, she'd thought he reminded her of a tired and possibly lame old lion. Too prideful to admit defeat, but injured in some way that nagged at him in his every waking moment. _

“_He leaves quite the impression, doesn't he?” Her duke didn't really wait for a response to that. “I've been cooped up here all morning, coming up with a way to warn him about Thales and friends in a way that he'll believe, and writing it down in code in case the letter's intercepted. Unfortunately, if there's anyone important in the Alliance that's serving Agartha, it'll be hard to tell them apart from the regular self-serving opportunists...but gramps can't prepare against an enemy he doesn't know exists. 'Else Duke Glouester will take it as an excuse to swipe the leadership position from him.” _

“_He can't do that over your head, can he? You're the legal heir.”_

“_No, but he can bloody well try.” Claude blew out a breath. “Sorry I made you worry...I spent entirely too much time writing versions of this letter where I was urging him to stand down and officially hand the reigns of power over to me.” He snorted. “As if he's gonna agree to give his half-blood grandson that honor over a letter.”_

_Byleth frowned at that. “Does he dislike you, Claude?” She asked gently._

_For a very long second, Claude didn't answer. That almost said more than anything words could have; his expression flattened and something akin to pain flickered through his green eyes. Regretting the question, she clasped his hand and squeezed gently to communicate her support. _

“_He doesn't hate me,” Claude said eventually, staring out the window. “...But honestly, that's almost worse than the alternative. Because I know I'm not what he wanted in a grandson.” He glanced over his shoulder, double-checking that the door was closed and that they were alone. _

“_Then he's a fool,” Byleth said bluntly._

_That startled a laugh out of Claude, and his expression softened slightly. He pulled her over to the bed and sat down on it. “He's set in his ways, that's what he is. He didn't invent the Alliance's animosity toward Almyra, or his belief that my mother needed to marry for the benefit of the family. My mother met my father during something that happened during her schooling at the officer's academy; after that, there was no one else for her. My grandfather arranged for her to marry the guy who became the current Lord Gloucester – can you imagine that?”_

_Byleth responded by making a face. It must have been quite the sight, because it got _another _brief laugh out of Claude and caused him to kiss her cheek. “Mom made it clear that she wasn't having that...and gramps erupted when he found out about dad. In the end, she ran off with him, with some help from my uncle.” The brunette sighed heavily. “Some years later, that uncle died in an 'accident' I'm almost certain was Gloucester's work. Gramps was devastated; both his children were gone, and I think as the years went on, that started to get to him.”_

“_So he asked her to come home? ...I take it she chose not to.”_

“_Well, that'll be because when she slipped back into the Alliance to attend my uncle's funeral, he tried to imprison her in the palace to keep her from returning to Almyra. She said that she couldn't forgive him for that...and she hasn't. I had to argue with her for so long before she consented to my little plan.” Claude sighed heavily. “Gramps welcomed me, but his first reaction to seeing me was telling. The fury on his face told me exactly how much I look like my father.” _

_He held up his hands for a moment before dropping them to his knees, sighing. “He tries, you know. He tries to be good to me. But he slips up, he treats me differently then he would if I weren't who I am, and I can't miss it. Even when I try to.” _

“_You think he'll believe you about this? As strange as it sounds without concrete proof?”_

_Claude blinked and then nodded. “Yeah. For all the old man's faults, he's devoted to the Alliance. If its threatened, he'll be ready for the storm.”_

* * *

“We're facing this together,” Byleth said quietly. “I won't tell you not to be afraid. But whatever happens, we'll face it as one.”

“But who's we?” Bernadetta asked in a small voice. “Us and the Blue Lions? Us and the church?” She shook her head. “If the Flame Emperor is a person from Fodlan helping Thales for his own ends, why would he be the only one? What if my father -” She flinched just at the mention of him, but barreled on, “or other lords decide that they want more power and think they'll give it to him? What do we do then?”

“...I'm not sure.” That potential danger had been on Byleth's mind before. “But an alliance made between the Kingdom and the Alliance would be as powerful as the Empire. Dimitri and Claude can see to that; even if we're on our own, we have plenty of power to call to bear.”

Bernadetta slowly nodded. “I think your vision is going to be about Agartha,” She said quietly. “I hope it tells you something important.”

“Me too,” _...Assuming I have one at all..._

Any further discussion was cut off by the sound of war horns.

Byleth's head snapped up, her eyes scanning the horizon. Bernadetta squeaked and rushed to mount her horse, which was stomping on the ground and snorting. He could probably smell the wyverns on the wind. Claude shoved off the wall and drew two arrows, while Hilda nervously walked out in front of Byleth to the front of the wooden bridge.

Almyran warriors were not known for subtly. The forces who would be their enemy for the day appeared over the hill like a black wave; wyverns shrieked in the sky, and the thundering of horse hooves echoed across the ground. Byleth's gut twisted a bit as she remembered that Lysithea, Cyril, Marianne and Atra were in a valley below them and hoped beyond hope that they wouldn't be seen...or else they would be trapped far away from help.

“...This isn't a proper invasion force,” Claude mused, narrowing his eyes as he leaned forward over the stone wall. “Not quite. I think they're just here to make trouble for Holst.”

“Is that right?” Balthus snorted, punching his gauntlets together. “Two can play at that game.”

Byleth drew the Sword of the Creator as she walked up to Hilda's side, pointing it straight forward. The black wave directly ahead was still rushing towards them when it suddenly split into three, two flowing off to each side to approach down the sides of Foldan's Locket.

Hilda shuddered a bit at the sight, but she took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before calling out, “Gentlemen! Prepare to defend yourselves!”

A roar went up from the defenders, the men raising their swords and lances in defiance of the attackers. Their reservations about fighting without their trusted commander seemed to be set aside. “Lead us to victory, chosen of the goddess!” Byleth heard once voice shout above the others; this cry was followed by another rallying whoop.

She pointedly ignored the uncertainty in her stomach. She would just have to be unfaltering warrior they believed wielding the sword made her.

Byleth nodded in approval before running forward, crossing the wooden bridge and stepping onto the hill. Claude, Bernadetta and Balthus were right behind her, while Hilda ordered the gates closed behind them. This was a risky endeavor, but Claude had noted that Almyra had learned how to conquer Fodlan forts – they had their wyvern riders fly over the stone defenses and slaughter the defenders who were completely occupied with the horsemen and warriors attacking the gates. Fodlan's Locket had a couple of ballista, but they wouldn't be enough to cover the entire sky since a few of them were suffering from water damage.

It had been a while since Byleth had used her bow. She hoped that her use of the Sword of the Creator hadn't caused her other weapon skills to go rusty. The weight of her quiver felt completely natural, however – her memory continued to serve her well.

Mere seconds later, wyverns were flying overhead. Claude strung up his arrows, tracked one of the great beasts with his bow for a moment before letting loose; a shriek confirmed the hit as the wyvern suddenly banked, dropping several yards from the sky before gliding down into the alley to the right of them.

Bernadetta wasn't far behind; her horse reared back, perfecting her aim as she let loose an arrow. This caught a wyvern flying above in the wing, judging by its pained shriek. It dropped down directly in front of her, managing a somewhat graceful landing while flattening its injured limb against its side. Its rider, after recovering from the fall, jumped out of the saddle and took a second to pat his faithful mount on the head before charging straight for them.

Balthus grinned and bolted forward to meet him; as they clashed in roughly the middle of this particular hill, a number of horsemen thundered across the bridge and charged forward. Bernadetta let out a half frightened, half determined war cry and urged her own horse into a gallop, making a semi-circle around Balthus and his opponent before drawing again.

Taking a shot at another wyvern rider overhead – she must have only hit a leg or simply grazed the beast, because it fluttered in place for a moment before flying off to the side. Slinging her bow of her shoulder and drawing the Creator's Sword with her off hand, Byleth met one of the knights and caught the blade of his lance in the coils of the relic. She jumped backwards and used her momentum to pull the weapon out of his hands; unfazed, he took out an ax and charged at her again.

Byleth dodged past it and swung the blade again, managing to slice at his armored back, knocking him halfway off his horse. Claude swung out from behind the tree he'd taken cover in and shot down a horse, causing it to throw its rider.

Not that this put much of a dent in the rush. But it wasn't meant to – they had ventured out to take out the wyverns and find the Battle Master in order to take him out.

_The Battle Master isn't the same as a general in a Fodlan army, _Cyril had explained to the class hours before the battle. _The army won't immediately fall into disarray when we take him out; each set of 'battle brothers' are too independent for that. But they are beholden to him because he leads the charge; if he looses, it's much more likely they're call off the battle._

_Isn't surrendering shameful?, _Lorenz had asked in surprise.

Cyril gave him a strange look and shook his head. _No way. Surrender is not death; there is no shame in living or in admitting you've met a superior warrior. _The boy then surprised her by snorting. _That's what they'll tell you, anyhow. _

Bolting tore through the air, striking out to the right with a thunderous impact. Byleth ignored the familiar anxiety that came with leaving her students to fight without her direct support; she trusted them to do their part. She had to do hers.

“Stay close,” She warned her friends as she ran for the wooden bridge to the right of the hill. Bernadetta was already ahead of her, shooting ghostly crest-powered arrows up into the sky at another wyvern rider. Several of them found their mark, and the danger to the Locket dropped from the sky again. Balthus downed his first opponent with a final punch and made his way towards her right on Claude's heels.

Claude skidded to a halt, spun on his heels, drew, aimed and fired all in one smooth movement. This arrow didn't hit the wyvern – no, it hit the man riding it! An ax fell from his hand as the man awkwardly hung halfway off his saddle, the arrow having gone through his arm. Balthus whistled; Claude mock-bowed to him, causing the older man to scoff and say 'show off' in an exaggerated noble accent.

They weren't left alone for long; seven horsemen broke off from their band's charge against the walls of Fodlan's Locket to try and run them down. Bernadetta fired a ghostly volley at their new attackers; many of them missed, but others hit shoulders or the leather armor of the horses. Smiling, Byleth pulled her arm back and then swung the relic sword in a wide arc; the blade tore into the earth, sending stone and clumps of dirt flying everywhere. Shock waves caused by the weapons caused the horses to rear up or actually be thrown backwards, dislodging their riders who tumbled down the hill at increasing speed.

Byleth heard Bolting go off again, and when she turned her her head back toward the walls of the Locket she briefly saw Banshee go off – a good plan from Hapi, tripping up their opponents and making them easier targets.

Sheathing the sword at her side, Byleth slung her bow off of her shoulder again before drawing an arrow. “Archers!” Balthus warned her, pointing his gauntlets down the wooden bridge behind the four of them. Sure enough, Byleth caught sight of a dozen men aiming in their direction; “Bernadetta, get in the trees!,” She warned her friend as she bolted; Bernadetta clicked her tongue and tugged on the reigns, quickly running back into cover. Claude pulled Balthus back just moments before a hail of arrows slammed into the ground where they had been standing.

“That's gonna be a problem,” Claude said dryly. “Got any ideas, Teach?”

Byleth started to say something, but was cut off by a massive fireball flew down from the heavens and crashed into the ground all around that group of archers, causing a blaze to build up. Starting, Byleth emerged from the trees and saw something overhead that made her smile.

Maea the black beauty pegasus was a distinctive figure; very, very few pegasi had black coats, and there was all sorts of speculation about what caused it. Superstition often caused people to give them a wide berth – but Lysithea was not one of those people. She could almost see her white-haired student grinning as she and her mount swooped over her defeated enemies, before taking a sharp turn to dodge the wyvern rider on her tail. After a second of chasing, Lysithea suddenly urged Maea into a deep dive; when the Almyran gave chase, she pulled up level and then did a sudden turn – allowing her to cast Swarm directly at her surprised tail.

Wyverns weren't just sensitive to magic; they _hated _incessant loud noises. The dark magic spell, which mimicked a demonic swarm of insects, combined those two weaknesses to devastating effect. The wyvern fell dozens of yards, dropping his rider and barely managing to grab him/her in its claws before they splattered on the ground. Lysithea and Maea then wheeled away and shot off to another area of the field.

“Wow,” Byleth said, for lack of a more eloquent reaction.

“...I want my wyvern,” Claude grumbled with a mixture of envy and longing. “C'mon, Teach, we're gonna get shown up at this rate!”

She smiled wryly. “Indeed. Then let's get going, shall we?”

Bernadetta had been gaping at the sky, nearly dropping her bow as she watched the display. Claude's voice brought her back to the ground. “O-Okay!”

Balthus laughed as he chased Claude and Byleth, who were heading back down the bridge they'd arrived from – their first planned route now being occupied and largely on fire – on the heels of Bernadetta who was spurring her horse and keeping on eye on the sky. “The little lady is quite something, isn't she?!” The war monk cheered.

“I always knew that,” She responded, skidding to a halt and pointing her bow at the sky. Claude did the same and the two of them dropped two more wyverns before they could fly over and destroy Hilda's defensive line. The others seemed to be holding up well; a glance over her shoulder showed more Bolting and Aura flying from the walls, arrows shooting over and the gates being held firm by the defenders.

_Keep everyone healthy, Flayn, _she asked silently.For all that the green-haired girl was determined to become stronger and fight on even footing with Lysithea and Marianne, healing was her calling and her Major Crest of Cethleann made her almost a saint in her powers. It was knowing she was looking after her classmates that eased Byleth's worries about not being on the wall with them.

Hilda wasn't made for command, but she was a fighter, and the others trusted her. She would hold the line without faltering.

They ran past the forces scattered along the length of Fodlan's Locket and moved backward into the opposing army. Bernadetta rode forward, tracking Lysithea as her classmate flew in circles, taking potshots at the wyverns harassing her and trying to bring her down. Though she was tough and had a distinct advantage over them, she was dangerously outnumbered.

She wasn't without help, though. Even as the four of them approached one wyvern fell from the sky, shot down by Cyril who was perched in a tree. On the ground near him, protecting him from a herd of mounted knights, were Marianne and Atra; Atra was standing in front of the blue-haired girl, both swords raised as she cast blasts of fire with one and defended with the others. The horsemen were circling around her, trying to get past her. Marianne in turn protected her with both Thoron and Blizzard, while occasionally aiming magic at the sky like she had months before. She didn't hit as often as Cyril, but she did score her targets.

There were a number of defeated enemies slinking away from the two girls and a number of bodies on the ground. They were holding their ground.

“Fantastic!” Byleth called out to them, smiling as she put her bow away again. The horsemen turned towards her, their horses nickering in alarm as she drew the Sword of the Creator. “You've done incredibly well, you three!”

“I've not done much,” Atra objected, even as she swung her flame sword again. Byleth watched in fascination as, not unlike the famous Levin Sword, a blade of fire whipped forward and struck the shield of an Almyran soldier right in front of her. The man shrieked at the impact, his clothes beneath his armor catching fire and then he fell from his mount. “The Battle Master is in the air.” She pointed up and to the left; Byleth followed her gaze even as Balthus shot forward gauntlets blazing and Bernadetta and Claude unleashed their arrows.

The Battle-Master wasn't hard to see; his wyvern was the biggest, and the sunlight glinted of its iron armor. The massive beast dwarfed Lysithea's pegasus by two degrees, and he was easily avoiding her retaliatory fire. However, he'd yet to get close enough to harm her, and seemed to be ordering his fellow riders to force her toward the ground.

_We can't have that, _Byleth thought firmly. “Cyril,” She called to her young student as Balthus knocked another knight off of his horse. Claude was keeping one eye on the Battle-Master even as he fired at the few knights remaining. With the pressure lightened up, Atra was able to leave her defensive position and go on the attack herself. “We need to bring him down. Give me two of your arrows!”

“Huh?” Cyril stuck his head out of the foliage, blinking at her. “Uh, sure thing!” He fumbled with his quiver and held them down to her as she approached her. “You have a plan?”

“Part of one. Be careful with these, okay?” Before he could respond, Byleth used Fire and coated the arrowheads with the magic. She handed them back, causing Cyril to yelp before quickly stringing them. Grabbing two arrows of her own, Byleth set them afire and stepped out from under the tree. “Marianne, cut him off from Lysithea, I want him to stay in place for a moment!”

Marianne raised both her hands and fired Thoron straight up toward the sky. The Battle-Master avoided it, pulling his mount back while his fellow had been gazed by the magic beam and started heading for the ground. Then Byleth and Cyril fired their burning arrows.

Clearly the wyvern was sufficiently armored that none of the impacts killed it – which was pretty impressive. It was hard to make good armor for a wyvern without excessively weighing them down and worsening their performance. Nevertheless, the beast clearly felt both the pain and the flames, because it let out an angry, tortured shriek and began to circle downward. Lysithea, now freed from her biggest adversary, wheeled around again and started throwing Swarm at the remainder of her opponents – scattering them.

Claude took off in the direction the Battle-Master was landing – an opening in the field to the far left of their current position. Byleth made to go after him as the great wyvern descended, but was momentarily stalled by an archer taking aim at Marianne. She took a second to take him out before shouldering her bow for the last time and following after him. “Finish up here and regroup with the others!”

Drawing the Sword of the Creator, she followed over the hill and skidded down into the pit. The sight she found was concerning.

The wyvern was big even by the standards of its species; even flattened against the earth and flapping its wings to put out the flames on its gear, it towered over Claude who stood a healthy distance away from it. Leaping from its back was a bear of a man with dark hair, two axes and a smirk; he even managed to dodge the first two point blank shots Claude fired at him.

There was a flicker of white somewhere above her, but she didn't have time to look for it. The wyvern was getting up easily, unencumbered by the arrows and snarling at Claude – and that was not acceptable.

Not wanting to kill the beautiful creature but very much needing to bring it down, Byleth aimed for a moment and then swung the Sword of the Creator. The whip blade flew true and wrapped around the long, curved horns on the beast's head; with a burst of strength almost certainly augmented by her divine powers, she then wrenched _back. _The wyvern was pulled off two of its legs, screeching in confused displeasure as it lost its balance. Toppling onto its side, it clawed at the ground and pivoted toward her as she charged straight at it; she jumped, and its huge jaws snapped at the air just beneath its feet as she flew over it. Landing on its shoulder muscles, she loosened the blade and let it reform before grabbing the beasts reins with her free hand; seconds later it jumped backward, throwing its head back to knock her off. Her vision blurred as she was tossed through the air, but she managed to hold onto the reins and hit the ground on one knee. _That's **definitely** going to bruise, _she thought with a wince. Then she hit the wyvern's chest with the hilt of the Sword, as hard as she could. There was a flare in the hole in the weapon's guard; the wyvern shuddered and stumbled back a step, wheezing. Wrapping the reins around her wrist, Byleth then pulled violently down, dragging the beast's head down to the hard earth; she then lassoed those very reins around its neck and planted her foot on top of its muzzle. She ducked down, dodging a tomahawk thrown at the back of her head; without missing a beat she turned on her free foot and launched the Creator's Sword again – this time aimed at the Battle-Master's leg.

He had his back to her – necessary, given that he was trying to reach Claude even as the latter danced around him and fired arrow after arrow. So when the relic weapon wrapped around his leg, he knew it was coming but wasn't able to react in time. As his furious mount jerked underneath her heel and tried to open its mouth through the reins, she yanked hard on her sword, pulling him off his feet as the blades of the whip cut into and burn his flesh.

To her surprise, when he got over the initial pain, he just laughed boisterously. “_Where did you find this one, princeling?” _He asked rhetorically in his native tongue.

“_She found me,” _Claude corrected with a smile, leveling his bow at the man. “_Aren't I a little too old for you to still be calling me that?”_

“_Could you win this battle without her?” _The man challenged, standing up despite the obstruction around his leg. “_Show me, princeling, and maybe I'll take you seriously.” _Then he straightened up, picked up an ax and whistled a short high note.

His wyvern surged upward – Byleth had been wary when it went still, but she'd thought that maybe it was running out of air. She was thrown off her feet and onto her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs as the beast slammed its heavy paw down next to her. The angry creature snorted in her face; she still had the Creator's Sword, she could get herself out of this-

An angry screech sounded somewhere above her. There was a blur of white, and then the wyvern above her was suddenly bowled out of the way. Gasping to get air back, Byleth propped herself up on her elbows and let go of the Divine Pulse she had been preparing to use; she stared at who had just come to her aide.

She was just as big as the other wyvern, her scales as white as Maea's fur coat was black. There were old, thin white scars trialing her large wings as she beat them at the opposing wyvern, snarling down at him. She was young and mighty, muscular and ready for battle; her tail thrashed as she asserted her dominance over her downed adversary. Byleth got to her feet, wondering where this new and faintly familiar figure had come from, when a crash behind her made her turn around.

Claude had caught the Battle-Master's ax on his sword, the weapon she had taught him to use, and knocked it aside. Then he'd stabbed the man in the shoulder, kicked his leg knee hard enough to drop him, then jabbed his neck with the arrow he'd been holding in his other hand. “_I **know **I can,” _he responded confidently. “_Tell Father that next time he wants to test Holst, he should send Nader instead.” _

The man stared up at him with a look that was a mixture of wariness and respect. Slowly he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“_You fought well,” _Claude informed him courteously. Then he glanced over at the white wyvern, his whole expression alight with childlike happiness, he whistled a long sweet note and called, “Ivory!”

The white wyvern swung her head towards him and let out a happy noise; she stepped off of her defeated opponent and trotted over to him as he stepped away from the battle-master. She headbutted his chest, snuffling and growling low in her throat; he laughed brightly and scratched behind her horns, smiling brightly. “There you are, what are you doing all the way over here without mom. Whoa!” Ivory snorted and headbutted him harder, knocking him onto his ass. He wasn't fazed, though. “Ha ha, I've missed you too, my girl. I've missed you too, I swear.” Claude stroked the length of her jaw, nuzzling the side of her muzzle. “I love you too; you're in so much trouble with mom – you know that, right?”

Byleth put away the Sword of the Creator before cautiously approaching her nuisance archer and his massive mount. Claude had managed to get back to his feet despite Ivory's attentions – she was going to be possessive of him for a while, being separated from her chosen rider for as long as she had been – and grinned. “Teach, this is Ivory. I told you about her, remember?”

“Of course I do,” She said, bowing to the magnificent wyvern while maintaining eye contact. Ivory turned her head towards her, leaning in and sniffing curiously. After a moment, scenting Claude on her, she decided that this stranger was alright and retreated a bit. “I do know what you _didn't_ tell me, though.”

She very calmly walked up to him so they were face to face, stared into his eyes for a moment, and then smacked the flat of her palm against his chest. _“**Princeling?!**” _She demanded in what she would later deny to be a rather squeaky tone of voice.

Claude balked a bit, and his smile turned sheepish. “Ah, r-right – did I really not tell you?”

“_No you bloody well didn't, **Prince** **Khalid**_!” She retorted in his first language, hoping that conveyed how frazzled she was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Battle-Master raise a curious eyebrow at that.

“Not so loud,” He pleaded, looking around for Goneril soldiers. Fortunately, they were alone. “I need a more, erm, _opportune _moment for that to become widely known. I need a good reputation!”

“Sorry,” She huffed. “I thought you weren't keeping secrets from me anymore.”

“This is the last one, I promise.” He said, abashed, touching her forehead to hers. “And this one was wholly unintentional. I swear.” Glancing at the Battle-Master who was now giving Claude knowing look, he finished, “Let's go tell Hilda the good news, huh?”

“Yes.”

_...And return to the monastery in time to 'receive a revelation...' _She knew Sothis was sleeping right now, but she still instinctively sought out the comforting presence of her divine friend. _If only I could look forward in time and see what is in store for us..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally winding down to the last two events before the timeskip! Holy crap I thought I would never get there. (vibrates in place) This is the last calm before the storm, everyone, enjoy it while it lasts!
> 
> I wish that Claude told Byleth his Almyran name in their S support; that would have been so cute. (pouts)


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has some important conversations and prepares to defend the Holy Tomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pouting) I miss the beach already. I wish my vacation could have been longer. It was nice and cool and the water was wonderful... (sulks) Anyway, I rewrote my first four supports for Atra and that is officially posted within the series tag, and I'll endeavor to do what I can to ensure I don't loose data like that again. 
> 
> With that out of the way, enjoy the chapter!

Dimitri sat on the edge of the pier, the edge of his boots grazing the rippling water. It was late, and he really should either be practicing or getting some rest, but any thoughts of leisure were banished every time he saw the object now sitting innocuously in his hands.

_It can't be the same one, _he thought bleakly as he turned the dagger over in his hand. _It's hardly one of a kind. Waiting for our enemy to make another move is making me paranoid. It can't be her._

_How many custom-made daggers from Western Faerghus are there to go around?, _one of his voices asked mockingly. _If the shoe fits..._

_You're wrong! She's family! _

_Because that meant so much to Kronya, she tried to cut her own sister's heart out personally. If she's in bed with them now-_

_That doesn't prove anything! Everyone else believes the Flame Emperor is a man. There's no reason to suspect-_

_No reason? Haven't her little snide remarks about your naivety and oh so blatantly pondering the possibility of war between the Kingdom and the Empire started to add up? Or are you as foolish as she says without Claude around to serve as your missing common sense? _

_Shut up!_

_How dare you? How dare you?! Why does she deserve your care and compassion when we were all left to die?! _

“Dimitri? ...Dimitri!”

The prince jolted, nearly fumbling the dagger into the lake before hastily stowing it and looking over his shoulder. The ghosts around him abruptly dissolved like morning mist as Byleth trotted across the mostly empty patio, Claude a few steps behind her. He smiled in spite of himself and scrambled to get to his feet. “You're back!” He said happily.

Byleth reached him first, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him into a hug. He buried his face in her shoulder, too glad of her comforting presence to ponder how forward he was being; her fingers were warm against the small of his back. “Is everything alright?” She asked after a second, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He raised his head and gazed adoringly back at her. Her expression was so earnest Dimitri almost wanted to say _no, not really. _Instead he touched his forehead against hers and tilted her head back just enough to kiss her soft lips. She briefly let out a startled noise before leaning into it. _Just be here, _he asked her silently. _My light in the darkness...just by existing you make me better. _

“I missed you,” He confessed when they parted. He knew it made him sound rather needy – they'd only been apart a few weeks – but he honestly didn't care.

Byleth's blue eyes sparkled in response. “I'm glad to be back,” she whispered back.

“Do I get a kiss too?” Claude asked playfully, a little mock hurt in his voice. Dimitri chuckled, surprising himself; casting a quick look around for anyone watching before tugging the brunette closer to him. Claude kissed him enthusiastically, his tongue darting out and running along the prince's bottom lip; he moaned softly, blushing a bit at Byleth's giggle as she watched them.

Claude held him for a moment longer, then broke away, lightly nipping at him as he retreated. “C'mon, Mitya; there's someone I want you to meet,” He said. His green eyes were dancing, alight with cheery, honest pleasure.

“Someone?” Dimitri asked curiously, allowing Claude to latch onto his arm and pull him toward the front entrance.

“Shhh, you'll know her when you see her,” Claude winked, while Byleth regarded him with amusement. “You'll get along great.”

Bemused, Dimitri let himself be lead while he wondered who the brunette could be referring to. Byleth hadn't sent any word about important individuals being sent back with her class when Sir Alois received her field report.

And honestly, he'd almost forgotten about Claude's childhood story about the wyvern trapped in the brambles until he was lead out into the open fields and was greeted by a massive snow-white beast that trilled happily at the sight of her chosen rider. He wasn't sure what sort of expression he was making – stupefied surprise or complete awe were equally viable – but judging by Claude's grin, it must have been quite something.

“Ivory!” Claude called overhead, whistling sharply. The white wyvern flew in a circle around the three of them, descending elegantly before landing a few feet away from her person. Grinning, Claude reached up and scratched the base of her neck. “This is Mitya. I mentioned that I was being taken care of, right?” Ivory snorted, lowering her head so she was staring Dimitri more-or-less in the eye, her wings flattening against her back. Her eyes were a blazing sunset red, and piercing as all others of her kind; Dimitri swallowed over his instinctive nerves. He didn't have to wonder what to do; Ivory stretched forward and nosed his chest, her ears swiveled towards him like she was listening for the frequency of his heart, then – apparently deciding he was alright – she retreated and sat back on her haunches.

“She's beautiful,” Dimitri managed after a few seconds, once he was over his shock. He gave Claude and Byleth a puzzled look. “But how is she here?”

“Somehow, she knew where the raiding party was heading and shadowed them,” Claude explained. Ivory snorted again and dropped her head so it was resting on top of him. “Ugh!, you're going to be grumpy for a while, aren't you...” He reached up and grabbed one of her horns, trying to push her head to the side. “Yes, I know, not ever again, I promise.”

Dimitri regarded the wyvern curiously; she was very expressive, possessiveness rolling off of her in waves along with irritation that her person hadn't brought her along with him to the monastery in the fist place. “I hope we can be friends,” He told her. _Everyone seems to think that wyverns and pegasi can understand us, so... _

Ivory rumbled deep in her throat, turning her head to look at him. After a second, she butted her head against his chest; not hard enough to knock him over, but he did stagger backwards a bit out of surprise. “Ah...” he glanced between Claude and Byleth, silently seeking advice.

Byleth smiled and stepped over to his side, putting her hand over his and guiding him up the side of her head, brushing his fingers against Ivory's lower jaw. The magnificent beast let out a rumbling sound that – was almost like a purr! “I didn't know you could make a sound like that,” he said wonderingly. Byleth urged him to move his hand up behind her elegant curved horns.

“That's how you know she's happy,” Claude explained, patting her front leg. Ivory took a step forward, pushing her head into Dimitri's hand. He yelped somewhat reflexively, Byleth helping him keep his footing. “Doesn't _quite _know her own strength, though. Be a little patient with her?”

“Easy for you to say,” Dimitri complained without heat. Byleth's hand retreated, leaving him to pet Ivory with a bit more confidence then before. Her rumbling purr was getting louder, so he must have been doing something right.

“You can snap steel with your bare hands and you're worried about getting knocked about?” Claude snickered. “You can be pretty silly, Mitya.”

“She likes you,” Byleth observed sweetly as Ivory raised her head so she was level with Dimitri, staring right into his eyes. Then she curled her tail around his legs, tugging him forward a bit and nearly tripping him up. “Do you feel up for a flight? I've already been on one, and she's a very caring companion.”

“Oh...!” Dimitri glanced at Claude, who perked up at the question. He thought about it for a second, glancing into Ivory's red eyes, and then up at the sky. It was turning red in the light of sunset, the sky utterly clear and the wind mostly still.

He'd never been up in the air before. Faerghus was a haven for pegasi, who distrusted men and only permitted female riders outside of dire emergencies, while its frequently chilly weather was a deterrent for wyverns, who preferred a warmer home. The sky had captured his imagination frequently as a child, however; that's why Stardust had captured his imagination despite otherwise not wanting to be caught with romantic fables... He met Claude's eyes and smiled.

“I would like that; if you're willing, Claude.”

Claude beamed at him, flooding his chest with warmth. The sensation drowned out the anxiety that had been torturing him all day. “Am I?! C'mere, Mitya; I'll see you at the stables, Teach!”

Byleth chuckled and started to walk off back to the monastery; Dimitri took Claude's offered hand and let the brunette guide him to Ivory's side. The saddle the wyvern was wearing was designed for two people travel as opposed to a single typically used in combat; Ivory seemed to understand in a heartbeat and pressed her stomach against the ground so they could climb onto her more easily.

“It looks just like a horse's saddle; is it really-?” Dimitri started to ask, only to but cut off by Claude's arms wrapping around his waist. “Ah! C-Claude!”

Claude snickered, mischievous devil that he was, before physically lifting the prince up and settling him into the saddle. Letting go a few seconds later, he grabbed a thick leather harness from the front of the saddle and lifted it up over Dimitri's head; the prince stuttered and shifted a bit as it was secured around him. “Just for safety's sake,” The brunette said playfully, right next to his ear. Dimitri shivered involuntarily. Ivory shifted, her wings spreading and flexing slowly as she lifted her head. “You've never been flying before, after all.”

Dimitri eyed the ground and then looked upward. “How...high up are we going to go?” He asked slightly nervously.

He felt Claude sit down behind him, sliding his arms around his waist and picking up the reigns that had been lying against Ivory's neck. “Don't worry about it,” He said playfully. “I've got you; Ivory and I have been doing this for years.”

“That's not an answer-” Dimitri started to protest, only to break off and yelp as Ivory rose up from the ground, spreading out her wings. He grabbed Claude's wrist and twisted back to glare at him. “Claude!”

He felt Claude rest his forehead against his neck. “Trust me, Mitya. I've got you.”

“...Alright,” He whispered.

Claude kissed the nape of his neck, which sent a pleasant, _burning hot _jolt down his spine. “Here we go!” He whistled to Ivory, and Dimitri was given a split second to second-guess his desire before Ivory snorted and then lifted off the ground.

The prince bit his lip to keep from letting out a started shriek; Ivory was moving at a fairly gentle pace, rising dozens of feet from the ground each second as she began to move in a circle around the monastery. Claude chuckled as Dimitri pressed back against his chest, peering down at the ground for a few seconds and _instantly regretting it_. “Don't look down!” The brunette said with a light laugh, tugging lightly at Ivory's reins to make her weave between the high towers of Garreg Mach.

Dimitri would have commented that it was a little too late for that, but the words were pulled out of his lungs by the wind whipping around them. Instead he looked around them, awe mingling in with the dizzying feeling of vertigo as he beheld the land from up above. Everything – the people, the trees, the encampments – looked so _small_, as if they were merely drawings on a map. The wind whipped through his hair despite the sedate speed they were flying at, and, incredibly, it felt as though it was lifting a weight off of his shoulder.

As his initial jitters wore off, Dimitri relaxed in Claude's arms and looked down once again in wonder. They were high above Garreg Mach now, so far up that he could no longer see any of the people walking in the yards; just small dots shifting ever so slightly like ants on a hill. The lake shimmered like a jewel in the late evening light; the rolling green hills seemed to ripple out to the forest. The air was cool and edging toward cold – but it was refreshing, too. Ivory's powerful wing-beats carried them away from the monastery itself after one final circle around it.

They flew over the trees...Ivory rose up high enough that when Dimitri looked up, the clouds hovered close enough to touch. Slowly he let go of the saddle with one hand and reached up; what he was expecting, he wasn't sure, but the rush of cold water and lack of resistance his fingers passed through the fluffy construct wasn't quite it.

Dimitri laughed in amazement regardless; his chest felt light, euphoria flooding through him as he often felt in battle. He felt Claude chuckle in response, “want to go above cloud cover?” he asked, his voice heavily muted by the wind.

“Yes!” Dimitri shouted back without having to think about it.

Ivory trilled knowingly, and moments later she surged upward again. Dimitri reflexively shut his eyes as they flew straight through a cloud, giving him goosebumps and leaving a sheen of water along his arms. When the sensation drained away, he opened them again and surveyed the world around him...

There were many, many paintings of the sky in Faerghus; the kingdom had long been fond of the arts, sponsoring almost as many budding talents as the more egalitarian Alliance. But even the most fantastic images paled in comparison to reality.

The clouds spread below him like a white ocean; formations of clouds even rose and fell like waves, Ivory occasionally trailing her claws through them as she flew over. Rose pink and golden rays painted thick lines and curves along that fluffy whiteness; it was rich and intense in a way that defied words. The air tasted thinner and caused a faint but constant tightness in his chest, but Dimitri hardly noticed it over the _awe _that had overtaken him.

“I don't know what to say,” He gasped out.

“I know,” Claude responded in his ear, his voice both teasing and reverent. His arms tightened around his prince, tugging lightly at the reins. “Some things are beyond description.”

He turned Ivory to the right, guiding her in a circle again. Dimitri looked all around the sky, trying to commit it to memory. Feeling Claude's breath on his neck warmed him in spite of the cold air; he couldn't help but reach out and let his fingers pass through another cloud.

“Is it always this cold?” He asked, panting slightly with the effort to speak through his tight chest.

“Yeah,” Claude responded easily. “The general theory is that it's related to how high off the ground we are.” He patted Dimitri's thigh, causing the prince's breath to hitch. “How's your head? Is it spinning yet?”

“Ah...no – er, not really?” Dimitri put a hand on his chest. “B-Breathing feels a little painful for some reason...”

“It's the thin air,” Claude said.

“You sound fine, though.” The prince protested.

“That's because I've trained for the conditions!; not to mention I've been flying for years.” Claude then clicked his tongue twice; Ivory snorted and then started to descend, much to Dimitri's disappointment. The brunette seemed to sense this, and chuckled before gently explaining, “I don't want you to pass out on me, Mitya.”

They flew down below cloud level again, revealing that they'd traveled a decent distance away from the monastery. It was still within sight, but it was almost on the horizon as Ivory continued to make her way down toward the ground. Dimitri let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling as if his chest had been released from a vice; when the white wyvern alit upon the ground, he fumbled with his harness and then slid almost bonelessly to the grassy hill. His lungs burned, as if he'd been holding his breath underwater for a long time.

He laughed in spite of it, though, leaning back against Ivory's side. Moments later, Claude slid down next to him and pressed a kiss against his temple. “I don't think I've heard you laugh much,” The brunette murmured, looking into his eyes. “That's a shame. It's so sweet.”

“You tease me,” Dimitri managed, blushing under the compliment.

“I'm serious,” Claude protested, pressing against his side and nuzzling the crook of his neck. The prince's face burned with heat; he made no attempt to move away, though. He didn't want to.

“...The world is beautiful, isn't it?” He managed after a moment of taking several deep breaths. His head was still spinning a bit, but he felt less like he'd fall over standing up now. “To see it from such perspective was,” he took another breath when his vision spun a bit, “incomparable.”

“I know,” Claude purred, his hand sliding down to Dimitri's thigh. The prince grabbed his wrist and gave him a flustered look, to which he smiled in return and kissed him lightly on the lips. “It also gives us a bit of time to ourselves. If flying makes you smile like this, I have to steal you away more often.”

“...I would like that,” Dimitri murmured. He leaned into Claude's side and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his chest ease and enjoying the intimacy.

They stayed like that for a moment, Claude humming and letting his hand linger on Dimitri's leg. With the need to keep their unusual relationship secret from their friends and others for now, it was hard to find opportunities to be this affectionate. Though he wouldn't admit it, that often grated on Dimitri; so much so that he welcomed how cuddly and forward Claude was whenever they found themselves alone.

Of course, there were other things they needed to discuss...

“Have you heard anything from Rodrigue?” Claude asked quietly, not moving his head from Dimitri's shoulder.

“He has sent a letter, but from the sounds of it, he's yet to find the traitor. However, he has ruled several people out...so it's only a matter of time. Has your grandfather sent word?”

“Yeah. He's been discreetly preparing for weeks now; but he does want a letter from you to confirm your support in the conflict. Sorry 'bout that.”

“Don't be; it's a perfectly sensible thing for him to expect. I'll send the letter this evening.”

“I'll help you write it in code, just in case its intercepted.” Claude sighed heavily.

Dimitri turned and kissed the top of his head. “What else is on your mind, Claude?”

The brunette's grip on his hand tightened. “At risk of annoying you...it's this revelation we've been invited to attend tomorrow. This whole setup is sending alarm bells of in my head. Why does By need to go to the tomb to receive a vision when Sothis lives inside of her? Why would Rhea get a vision if Sothis isn't sending them? She doesn't remember being the goddess...so what's going on?”

“I don't know,” Dimitri admitted. His stomach twisted a bit with unease. “But perhaps it is because Sothis has forgotten that Lady Rhea had the vision about bringing her and Byleth to the tomb. Maybe being in the most holy place of the monastery will restore her memory.”

“Is that really how it works?” Claude asked dubiously. “I know I can't really offer you a good reason for it, but something about this is bothering me. Hell, the fact that I can't guess at what it might be is worrying.”

“...I can't promise that nothing will happen,” Dimitri said with a sigh, before tilting Claude's chin up so he could look into those emerald eyes. “But we'll all be there with her. If something does happen, we'll face it as one.”

That got Claude to smile in spite of the worry still lingering in him. The thought of unknown, unexpected danger made Dimitri's mind stray to the dagger hidden in his belt, and his stomach sank. Seized by anxiety, he pulled a startled Claude onto his legs and passionately kissed him, pressing his tongue past his lips and into his mouth. Claude let out a startled moan before winding his arms around his prince, tangling his fingers in his hair as he kissed back with a fervor that would have left Dimitri a stuttering mess under normal circumstances. Now, however, he tightened his embrace and committed the softness, the taste, the feeling of the kiss to memory. To keep Claude's warmth with him always...

Several minutes past before they broke apart, breathless and blushing. After a moment, Claude's fingers snaked under his chin, raising his head so they were looking into each other's eyes. “Dimitri?” He prompted gently.

“Promise me...” It was a selfish thing to ask, Dimitri knew. Perhaps even irrational, because no one could control what happened on the battlefield (except for Byleth and Sothis, and his beloved had her limits) or if disaster would strike. But as he stared into those green eyes, the lifeline that kept his pain at bay, and the words slipped out of him anyway. “Promise me you're going to be safe. Don't leave me...please...”

Claude looked back at him for a moment before pressing a softer, sweeter kiss against his lips for a few agonizing seconds. “I'll only promise that if you do too,” He responded quietly.

Dimitri's heart hurt. He could feel his ghosts glaring at the back of his head...and yet...

“I promise.”

“Then I do too. …I love you, Dimitri.” The words were unexpected, and Dimitri suspected they still weren't easy for Claude to say. It was incredible how four words could fill him with happiness.

“I love you too.” _That's why I can't loose you or Byleth...please, whatever happens, be safe..._

* * *

After they flew back to the monastery, the sun had almost set. Dimitri parted with Claude in the stables, but not before the brunette threw an arm around his neck and whispered _'I found a reading room hidden beneath the monastery floor. Come find me in a bit and I'll show you', _a mischievous look in his eyes. Smiling, Dimitri had agreed before stepping out to find Byleth.

He'd learned to look for her in certain places over the past few months, so after checking the fishing dock, he made his way over to the greenhouse. Pushing the door open, sure enough, he saw Byleth kneeling in the dirt with Bernadetta and Ashe, helping them re-plant a row. Ashe was eagerly talking about how the flowers would look when they bloomed; Bernadetta contributed occasionally and reminiscing about the garden at her home, and all the while Byleth was smiling. Soft and warm and completely unburdened by grief.

Seeing that filled him with happiness and relief.

“Oh, Dimitri!” Ashe called when he noticed his house leader. Byleth tilted her head to the side and brightened a bit when she saw him. “Would you mind giving us some help?”

Dimitri thought about it for a second before walking over and kneeling next to his friend. “Sure. What can I do?”

He didn't really know much about gardening – it wasn't exactly something he expected to be taught. So he relied on the three to guide him through the process, digging trenches while avoiding the roots of the healthy plants. Bernadetta was in charge of making sure the seeds were planted the correct distance apart while Ashe reburied them and Byleth got the fertilizer and the watering can. The work was surprisingly easy, to him at least.

“Whew,” Ashe said after they finished, smiling brightly. “I'm glad to have that done. I was going to be helping Dedue, but he's helping Mercedes work in the kitchen.”

Byleth grinned; Dimitri ducked his head so it wasn't obvious that he was doing the same. “Is that right?”

“Yup. Mercedes has been spending a lot of time with him recently.” Ashe said obliviously. “Flayn sometimes helps them too; when she isn't advising Ignatz on his painting. I think he's hoping she'll model for him, but is too scared of Seteth to ask!”

“I don't blame him...” Bernadetta said meekly. “He's so intense, a-and he always looks so serious.”

“He does,” Byleth acknowledged, patting her shoulder. “But it's only skin deep. He's actually a very kind and thoughtful man; don't be afraid to talk to him, Bern.”

Bernadetta ducked her her head at that, but she did nod and smile a bit.

With their task complete, Byleth bid Ashe and Bernadetta good night before leaving the greenhouse with Dimitri on her heels. Glancing about, she gestured for him to follow her and lead him into her bedroom, saying something about needing his opinion on something before closing the door behind them.

Then she gave him a hug. “So the flight did help. I'm glad.”

“Hah...” Dimitri closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “It was that obvious I was upset, was it?”

“I've spent months figuring out when Claude is unhappy beneath his smile,” Byleth responded, tugging him toward the bed and urging him to sit down. “What's bothering you? Tell me.”

Dimitri sat down and dug his fingers into her sheets, expelling a long breath. He desperately did not want to talk about it; talking about it made it feel real, as if saying the words acknowledged it to be the truth. Seeing Byleth's worried eyes drilling into him, however...he let out a shaky sigh and took the dagger from his side.

“Do you remember when I told you that Edelgard and I are step-siblings by marriage?”

Byleth nodded, blue eyes fixed on him. Dimitri slowly unhooked the dagger from his side and placed it on his knees, revealing the sleek, sapphire-studded hilt. “It might sound pathetic, but I gave this to her before she returned to the Empire.”

“You mentioned she lived with you for a while...” She murmured, her brow furrowing slightly. “It's strange, though, because she's never acted like she recognized you. She should, though; you were eight, nine, right?”

“Yes.” _Then again, I also remember her having brown hair. I wonder why she changed it... I've never felt comfortable asking, with her holding herself like a stranger... _“But it was a long time ago, and since then she's had much on her mind.”

“This was your gift to her?” Byleth eyed the weapon, puzzled.

“I swear, it came from the heart.” Dimitri said defensively; she squeezed his wrist in response, allowing him to relax a bit. “In Faerghus, weapons are tools of destiny. She was being dragged around everywhere, never allowed to choose her own path. I hoped that having it would allow her to cut through to her desired future.”

“That's very sweet,” She responded, before frowning. “But why do you have it now? Did she give it back to you?”

“...No. I – I caught sight of the Flame Emperor speaking with Thales a few days after your father was killed.” Her eyes widened at the admission. “I'm so sorry I didn't mention it sooner. I didn't hear anything of worth, and I didn't want to upset you while you were so distressed. But the Flame Emperor threw this in my direction.” He turned the dagger over on his knees.

“The Flame Emperor-?” Byleth started, only to stop. Her eyes widened. “You think...”

Dimitri's fingers dug into his palms, forcing himself to take deep breaths. “It's not possible,” He insisted. “It's _not_. But I can't figure out why he would have it.”

“...When we rescued Flayn, we found a number of mages having cracked and burned emblems of the Empire.” Byleth noted, reaching over and grasping his hand. “I think it's safe to say that there are Agarthan plants in the Empire, like the mole in your father's council. With that in mind, it would be easy for them to take it from her at some point. To make a point about how isolated she is.” She shook her head. “Edelgard has been here this whole time, and she's been a good and able friend. She helped us throughout the Chalice crisis without hesitation. I don't believe she's involved either, Mitya.”

He smiled weakly at her.

“Don't worry too much about it,” Byleth said, a flicker of green and gold in her eyes. “I'm sure we'll catch Thales showing his hand soon enough.”

“I hope so. I'm tired of this game of hide and seek.” His grip on the dagger tightened; somehow, even her reassurance wasn't driving that nagging fear from his mind.

Her gentle kiss on the cheek worked better in that regard, though. He turned toward her and pulled her into an embrace. “I'm glad to see you smiling again, Byleth,” He said softly, stroking her back.

“Am I? I hadn't noticed...” She nuzzled his shoulder. “But I know that I'm not cold anymore...you and the others pulled me out of it...” She pulled back a bit so she could look into his eyes. “Knowing that, whatever happens tomorrow, I'm going to stay by your side. No matter what.”

“...I love you,” He said in response, kissing her on the lips. She let out a soft sigh and leaned into it.

They parted moments later, and Dimitri brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Are you worried about the revelation?” He asked her gently.

She ducked her head a bit in acknowledgment. “Yes; I can't really explain why. ...I hope it's nothing.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I understand. I'll protect you.”

She lay against his shoulder, closing her eyes. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute, enjoying each other's company. Byleth then straightened up and glanced at him. “Better?” She asked.

“...Yes,” Dimitri responded honestly. What little anxiety that had still been gnawing at the back of his mind had melted away, leaving him feeling much more calm and clear-headed. His head wasn't hurting as much either. “Sleep well, Byleth.”

“You too.”

Dimitri carefully stepped out of her room, making his way to the monastery with the last dying rays of the day. Claude had found a room deep in the monastery that he wanted to show him; after the last two nights, he welcomed having some company before going to sleep.

* * *

“I can't believe it; you finally went and-”

“I _really _don't know what you're going on about. Why won't you leave it alone? Is it really so strange that I woke up in a good mood?”

“Dimitri, there's waking up in a good mood, and then there's waking up after a night of-”

“Sylvain, if you don't shut up, I really will give you a knock over the head.”

“C'mon, we're friends, aren't we? Who have you met?! When did this happen?!”

Dimitri responded by smacking the back of Sylvain's head, causing his old friend to sputter and stumble into a wall. “I don't know what you're talking about,” He responded firmly, hoping it wasn't too undermined by the uncontrollable smile on his face. His mood was so good he honestly wasn't _that _annoyed by Sylvain's incessant questioning, he just needed him to mind his own damned business. “I had a good night's rest, that's all there is.”

Sylvain gave him a Look that made it clear he wasn't convinced; Dimitri put some extra speed in his step in hopes of finding Ingrid. Surely she'd come to his rescue. Fortunately he was just a few minutes from the dining hall where everyone else was having breakfast.

He hadn't felt so cheerful in...well, years. He was warm from head to toe and felt more rested than he had in four years. Now, if only he could get his red-haired friend off his back, his morning would be perfect.

Striding into the hall, Dimitri's eyes drifted over the Golden Deer table for a moment; he caught sight of Claude sitting between Byleth and Bernadetta, telling a joke that made both girls start laughing. Feeling heat rush to his cheeks, he quickly looked away with a smile and hurried over to the Blue Lions table.

“You're in a good mood,” Glenn noted from where he was sitting next to Felix. He gestured to the empty seat next to him, which Dimitri quickly accepted.

“It's that obvious?” He asked with a smile, accepting a bread basket passed to him by one of the waiters.

“For you? Yeah,” Felix said, looking a little startled. “Did something happen?”

“I slept well,” Dimitri responded confidently.

“That's what he keeps saying,” Sylvain said, much to his mingled alarm and frustration. Fortunately, the redhead had walked into grabbing distance of Ingrid as he searched for a spot at the table. “But I'm pretty sure that last night, he wasn't alone.”

“So you keep saying,” Dimitri said as dismissively as possible, avoiding looking straight at him. Oh, and avoiding looking at Felix and Ingrid, both of whom had slowly swiveled to stare at him. “Is it so hard to believe that _some of us _just benefit from a good night's sleep?”

Felix and Ingrid both stared at him for a moment, while Sylvain snickered disbelievingly. Fortunately, Ingrid snapped out of her bewilderment quickly and yanked hard on her old friend's sleeve, forcing him into his seat. “Don't speak nonsense, Sylvain. Eat your breakfast.”

The redhead pouted, giving Dimitri a look that informed him this wasn't over before he obeyed Ingrid and turned his attention to the food. Relieved, Dimitri – still smiling – poured himself a drink and asked what his friends had been talking about. Glenn gave him a bit of side-eye before launching into a story from the last four years where he'd been wandering the land. Apparently at some point he and Atra had been searching the Alliance for an Agarthan defector, posing as mercenaries, only to get sucked into a conflict between Acheron and another minor noble. Due to the comical incompetence of both nobles, Glenn had effectively lead them in circles, keeping any violence away from various villages while Atra eventually tricked the duo into agreeing to a one-on-one duel that would settle the matter. Acheron won without bloodshed and the two bolted out of his territory in the middle of the night.

“I could feel my sanity dying every time I had to talk to him,” Glenn grumbled, elbowing Felix when his younger brother snickered at his less-then-chivalric attitude towards the whole affair. “No amount of money is worth dealing with that man. Goddess, but I pity the villagers who live under him.”

“I'm surprised Atra didn't decide that surface humans were stupid after all, once he ordered you to attack on his own holdings.” Felix scoffed.

“That's not funny,” Ingrid scowled at him.

“Don't worry, I already made that joke. She rolled her eyes at me,” Glenn grinned at the memory. Ingrid's expression bent with a combination of confusion and jealousy; Dimitri just managed to hide a sympathetic wince.

Ashe enthusiastically switched the conversation over to a new fable from the southern most part of the Empire, catching Ingrid's attention and quickly pulling Annette and Mercedes into the drama as well. About halfway through breakfast, several people got up and switched places – Lysithea wandered over to the Blue Lions table to snatch some muffins and discuss magical theory with Annette, Ingrid went to mother Raphael and try to convince him to eat a little less, and Bernadetta slowly crawled her way over to sit near Felix in hopes of talking to him. They weren't the only ones; Linhardt wandered over from the Black Eagles table to speak with Marianne along with Dorothea.

The sight reminded Dimitri of how many friends he had now; it was still hard to wrap his head around it. When the meal was finished, he looked across the hall again in time to see Byleth set her utensils down and stare uneasily at her plate, shoulders tense. Claude put a hand on her shoulder and murmured something to her, then glanced up toward him. Dimitri nodded.

The revelation was an hour away. They had to prepare.

Lady Rhea had permitted – in fact, encouraged – Byleth to bring all of her close friends to the religious ceremony. As much as it galled and troubled him to bring weapons with him into the Holy Tomb, Dimitri had been reminded by Claude that the last time a significant ceremony had been held at Garreg Mach they had been violently attacked. So he'd warned the rest of his classmates to arm themselves discreetly before coming down. No one had really liked the idea – both on principle or what it implied – but agreed to it nonetheless.

Claude had spoken to Yuri and Atra, trying to find out if there was any other way into the Holy Tomb. Yuri confirmed that there was only one entrance, and he was wary of an attack elsewhere on the monastery. With that in mind, Claude had urged both him and the worried Atra to keep an eye out for trouble while protecting Abyss as usual.

With breakfast ended and themselves prepared, Dimitri lead his classmates to the floor below which the Holy Tomb was waiting.

* * *

“Are you surprised, Professor? This is the Holy Tomb.”

Byleth didn't answer Lady Rhea's question, her eyes fixed straight ahead to a stately marble throne sitting atop a large staircase at the far end of the tomb. Dimitri, meanwhile, was awestruck as he looked around the Holy Tomb. The room was massive; at least as big as the main hall of Abyss, made exclusively of rare jade marble. It was brightly lit, too – not just by torches, but as if there was somehow light filtering down from above. Rows and rows of elegant caskets lined the hall up to the staircase facing Byleth.

They'd followed Rhea down a set of stairs and through a set of double doors. At that point, the archbishop had triggered...something...that caused the room they were in to shudder and descend downwards.

“That mechanism for descending underground back there...” Claude started, his voice almost vibrating with curiosity. “What powers it? When I tried to come by myself, it wouldn't even budge.”

Dimitri gave him a disbelieving look and lightly cuffed him over the head, because what was he _thinking _admitting that with Rhea less than a dozen feet away from him?

Amazingly, however, Lady Rhea didn't even acknowledge the remark. Instead she placed a hand on Byleth's shoulder, very gentle and motherly, guiding her forward until they were standing at the foot of the stairs. “This is where the goddess who created this world was laid to rest, along with her children.”

_Children? _Dimitri looked around the room, his eyes scanning over the many caskets in the room... the gospels of Serios had only briefly alluded to the goddess having children, and even then they were implied to be the spirits of the seasons. What was Lady Rhea referring to?

“It is said that our creator – the goddess Sothis – sat upon this very throne.” Rhea said serenely, turning to face Byleth. “Professor...do you recognize this throne?”

“...I do.” Byleth confirmed moments later. Her voice was very much that of a woman who was miles away.

“So long...” Lady Rhea whispered, seemingly to herself. She was full of joy and relief, and rapture – it prickled at the back of Dimitri's mind. “I have waited so very long for this day.”

Dimitri saw Claude tense up out of the corner of his eye and quickly grasped his wrist. Agitated green eyes swung over to him, questioning. The prince shook his head minutely. _Wait, _he tried to say without speaking. _She won't intentionally harm Byleth._ “Sit upon the throne,” Rhea urged Byleth, oblivious to their silent conversation. “I'm sure you will speak to the goddess then.”

Byleth gave her an unreadable look, before slowly ascending the stairwell. The Deer and the Lions clustered together, watching, as she came to the foot of the throne and slowly sat down. Dimitri felt his heart skip a beat.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then another went by, then another. “Well?” Rhea asked with poorly hidden anticipation.

For a second, Byleth looked like she might say something.

Then her eyes started glowing.

There was a rush of wind around the foot of the throne; a soft and familiar golden-green light began to glow around it. A chorus of gasps echoed through the room; Dimitri couldn't be sure, but he thought his voice might be one of them. Byleth looked to the left and right, then slowly leaned over, resting her arm and head on the armrest of the throne; slowly she relaxed, her eyes slid closed...and she fell into what was either sleep or a strange trance.

“What's going on?” Hilda asked anxiously.

“_Something_'s happening,” Felix growled, his hand instinctively dropping to his side. Glenn put a hand on his shoulder as he watched Byleth's breathing. “Your Grace?”

Rhea smiled at him; he could be imagining it...but Dimitri swore he saw a shimmer of tears in the older woman's eyes. “She is communing with the goddess,” She reassured them. “Everything is proceeding as it was meant to. Do not be afraid for her.”

Claude tensed up further. Dimitri squeezed his wrist, urging him to stay calm. _I'm sure she and Sothis are talking about something...perhaps being here, on her seat of power, might bring back some of the goddess's memories? _Well, there was nothing he could do about that now...instead, he would have to focus on convincing Claude to trust Rhea...

“This won't hurt her, will it?” Bernadetta asked anxiously. She was hovering between Felix and Marianne, staring up at her older friend.

“No, no, of course not...” Rhea said reassuringly, even though she sounded miles away. “She's becoming whole.”

“What the blazing flames is that-” Claude started to hiss, but Dimitri cut him off with a sharp tug on his arm. “_Mitya?_” He hissed, frustrated.

“Sothis won't hurt Byleth,” Dimitri chided gently. “Whatever's happening, we'll be told afterwards.”

Claude looked mutinous, but nodded after a few tense seconds. Raphael, Ignatz and Flayn wandered forward a few steps, Flayn standing on her tip-toes to get a better look at the professor. Ashe murmured something to Marianne that Dimitri wasn't quite close enough to overhear; right before taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. Marianne smiled softly and thanked him. Dedue had placed a hand on Mercedes's shoulders; the older girl was praying, hands pressed against her chest. Annette was bouncing anxiously on her heels; Lorenz observed the scene in front of him while biting him thumb to conceal his emotions. Sylvain was pacing in an attempt to calm his nerves.

That's when they heard the door open behind them.

Dimitri spun around and saw a massive pool of armed soldiers flood out of the very entrance they had used; not a disorganized scramble, but a proper march row by row of trained men. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as two familiar figures – one moreso than the other – were at the head of this force, walking side by side so they were facing the combined classes. It wasn't just that it was _them – _those two murderers and monsters, in a holy place like this – but the garments of the men surrounding them.

It was the red and black of the Empire. Worn by men armed to their teeth, many carrying empty bags for some reason. This could only mean one thing.

* * *

“Sorry to disturb you at a time like this, Archbishop, but it seems we have some uninvited guests.” Claude said with enviable calm. Now he was the one communicating support by holding tight to Dimitri's wrist, keeping him in place and steadying him with his presence.

“Hahaha!” Metody – the minor lord of the Empire whom they had spared after his original attack on them. Now the prince could see what that mercy had been worth as the man strutted forward, sword in hand, smirking at them. “Don't move, any of you! If you resist, your lives will be forfeit.” He waved at Rhea, insolent in a way that belied belief. “Thank you ever so much for guiding us here! The Imperial Army will now take possession of everything in the Holy Tomb!”

Disbelief and rage warred in Dimitri's chest as stunned babbling erupted from his fellow students.

“What is the Imperial Army doing here?” Dedue demanded, pulling his gauntlets from the inside of his heavy cloak.

“They knew we were coming here...” Lysithea growled, stepping in front of a very pale Cyril who was fumbling with his quiver, trying to secure it.

“This can't be! How did they get into Garreg Mach?” Ingrid asked in disbelief.

“They've been here for a while now.” Leonie responded sourly, her fingers digging into her lance. “It's an old trick – disguising your men as traveling merchants or peasants fleeing from disaster, so they'd be welcomed into your lands without question. Even Yuri wouldn't have been looking for something _this _big.”

“Hey, the guy standing next to the angry guy...that's the Flame Emperor, isn't it?” Hilda said uneasily. “Doesn't that mean...?”

“The Flame Emperor is a powerful lord of the Empire.” Bernadetta whimpered. Felix pushed her behind him, guarding her as he drew his sword. “Oh no...w-what could they possibly want here?!”

“There's only one goal for grave robbers like these,” Claude said with cold confidence and dismissive attitude Dimitri almost wished he could mimic. Overall however, he was too full of rage to even speak; he stood in front of the stairwell to the throne on which Byleth still lay unmoving. “Isn't that right, Flame Emperor? You're here to steal from the Holy Tomb like a common thief.”

“For a fool, you catch on quickly,” The Flame Emperor said with utmost condescension, proving once and for all that he (_she-_) knew nothing about the brunette he (_she-_) was dismissing. “Those Crest Stones will be ours.” A dark, pollutant hate filled that distorted voice. “That infernal power, which poses as a medicine but is truly a poison, will plague this world no longer.”

“And to do so you will destroy everyone in your path,” Dimitri spat in disgust and _hate_. “Just like you did in Duscur!”

So Thales's pet would come to him on their own free will? _**Fine**_. He'll take off their head in order to later throw it at the monster who ordered his people's slaughter before he rammed his lance through his sick head.

“I had nothing to do with that.” The Flame Emperor deflected, causing a red haze to flood Dimitri's vision. A tight grip on his wrist, nails digging into his skin, dragged his attention over to a familiar pair of green eyes giving him a look of both concern and scolding. Sucking in a deep breath, Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his vision was mostly clear – only red at the edges. He had to be able to see through the Red if he was going to keep everyone safe.

The Emperor pointed up at the throne where Byleth lay. “Seize the crest stones in the casket, every last one of them. Seize the professor and take her prisoner; be sure to render her unconscious. She's too dangerous to leave here.”

_Over my dead body! _Dimitri raged, too furious to speak the words aloud. The mere thought of this monster taking away Byleth was too much for him, threatening to plunge him back into the Red.

“You're not going anywhere with our Professor!” Hilda shouted back, pulling out her ax. Bernadetta, Ashe and Ignatz raised their bows and strung arrows, Raphael and Dedue knocked their gauntlets together and took a battle stance, Felix and Glenn drew their swords, Lysithea Marianne Annette and Mercedes prepared their magic, Leonie and Lorenz raised their lances, Cyril stopped shaking and pointed his bow at the nearest soldier. Even Flayn stood straight and fearless

“Don't be foolish,” The Flame Emperor said with contempt. “Surrender now and be spared. You are outnumbered.”

Claude snorted as he let go of Dimitri and slung his bow off of his shoulder. “Am I supposed to take that seriously knowing that your master considers us little more than animals? If my options are die or be converted into a demonic beast, set upon helpless villagers? I think I'll take my chances with the reaper.”

Dimitri didn't smile – he bared his teeth. “Come and die, butcher.” He spat. “You aren't facing drugged, confused and disarmed soldiers here; nor helpless peasants. How do you fare against an opponent who can _**fight back?!**_”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger~!
> 
> I decided to have a little more fluff before the war phase effectively started, and I guess I got a little carried away, because the Edelgard reveal was going to be in this chapter originally. (ruffles hair sheepishly) I ultimately decided that I'd have that from Claude's POV for a couple of reasons, despite choosing Dimitri first - but I hope the reason will be obvious next chapter.
> 
> Also, since I already have so many characters to juggle in one battle, I realized it sort of made sense for the Ashen Wolves and (obviously) Atra to sit out of the 'revelation' - because one, they had no reason to suspect things were about to go to the Eternal Flames in a handbasket, and two, it makes sense for Yuri to be trying to find out what the enemy's next play would be. Too bad even he didn't see this coming.
> 
> (contemplates how many characters are going to be involved in the Invasion of Garreg Mach)  
(groans)  
Oh boy...


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude fights to protect Byleth and the Crest Stones.

“The Crest Stones are in the caskets! Crack them open!”

“The Holy Tomb must not be desecrated! Prevent them from leaving with anything!”

Rhea, it seemed, was not content to merely deliver that order and then watch them do all the heavy lifting. Instead, the moment that order passed her lips, she drew a glittering silver sword from inside her robes. The blade was instantly recognizable from any number of historical books and church paintings; the sword passed down to the saint by Sothis (_apparently, anyway_) to slay the fallen King of Liberation. Claude couldn't help but note in the handful of seconds that he had to examine the blade that it was radically different from the Sacred Relics; glowing silver rather than orange, slender and ornate instead of bulky and bonelike.

Snarling in rage, (_she really did remind him of a warrior from home in that moment_) Rhea rushed down to the right side of the tomb where a dozen Empire soldiers had surged forward and were hacking at the sealed caskets with axes and other tools. Cyril let out a cry of alarm and ran after her, firing arrows at the group just as Rhea exploded into their midst, stabbing one man clean through the spine before kicking his corpse aside. Cyril's arrows, either by luck or good aim on his part, hit the soldiers on either side of that man, preventing them from retaliating and giving Rhea a chance to switch targets.

“Raphael, Lysithea, go help Cyril!” Claude shouted as he shot down a priest several yards away from him. _Healers have to go first_. “Lorenz, Dedue, Ignatz, stay back and protect Teach! Leonie, lead the way down the left! Bern, Felix, go with her!” It was a testament to the situation that Felix didn't protest him barking orders, instead following Bernadetta as the latter chased after her classmate, bow in hand. “Glenn, Ingrid, keep everyone coordinated!” They already tended to extract others from bad situations during battle; might as well make it their job. “Marianne, alternate between healing and fighting at your discretion!”

Dimitri swore and grabbed Claude's shoulder, pulling him off to the side. The brunette nearly bit his tongue when an arrow whisked through the air where he'd been standing moments ago; without breaking stride, he found the culprit a few seconds later and fired two arrows in retaliation. (_Teach's Brave Bow really was a blessing_.) The archer dropped like a stone. Upon seeing he was safe, Dimitri charged at a group of soldiers who'd knocked a coffin open and were rummaging around inside it. Claude winced as his prince impaled one through the neck and punched another who'd been in reach so hard he could hear the bones cracking even within the current din.

“Mercedes, Flayn, you two focus on healing and protecting each other!” He said, taking stock of who still needed orders and thinking of how they could make the best out of the battlefield they were stuck in. (_He really wished he'd thought to convince Yuri, at least, to come along. Hindsight was a vicious bitch._) “Annette, Ashe, Hilda, focus on taking out outliers and protecting the caskets! Everyone, change up tasks when the situation calls for it! Stay flexible!”

The Deer were familiar with that last order; knowing that you could usually count on plans being the first casualties of battle, Claude had encouraged Teach to build lessons around how to regroup and adjust to circumstances on the fly. He'd gotten pretty good at it, if he did say so himself. Hopefully the Blue Lions would be able to match their friends whenever they changed strategies...it was gonna be a problem keeping an eye on everyone...!

Claude shot down two of the men at the coffin who had decided to forgo attempting to fight Dimitri and flee with the Crest Stones; they both fell with gurgled screams. This was an invasion; he couldn't afford to prioritize non-lethal takedowns like he usually did. Knowing that grated on him, watching blood splatter across the floor...and for what?

His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the Flame Emperor, standing at the back line of his troops, axe in hand. _It's high time I find out, isn't it? _

“Dimitri,” He called as he shot down another warrior. His prince kicked his current enemy into a pillar hard enough to crack the stone; as the body dropped to the ground, he twisted to look at the brunette, his eyes a bit hazy. _That's not good_. “I want to get to the Flame Emperor. Can you cover me?”

“You – that's too dangerous, Claude,” Dimitri protested, his voice calming a little from when he'd first jumped into battle.

“I don't think so,” Claude responded confidently. “I know what I'm doing; and taking out the leadership is key.”

Dimitri visibly wrestled with that for a second before glancing back at the chair where Byleth was still unconscious. Lorenz and Dedue were fighting side by side, forming a formidable defensive line; Lorenz set the uniforms of warriors and mages alike ablaze, leaving them writhing and completely unprepared for Dedue when the massive teenager stormed forward and smashed his silver gauntlets into their chests and faces, throwing them aside like ragdolls. Ignatz stood behind them, firing arrows at anyone who looked like they might get past them.

Convinced she was as safe as she could be, Dimitri waved for him to follow, turning to search for Lady Rhea in the crowd.

She wasn't hard to find either; as Claude slipped behind one of the pillars, he saw her straight ahead slashing ferociously at a number of Empire men. Despite the fact that she was surrounded three-to-one with only Cyril as immediate backup, she was far from in trouble – there were a half-a-dozen corpses lying on the ground behind her, her once-pristine white robes splashed with massive amounts of blood. _So there's the warrior she tries so hard to hide, _Claude thought darkly. _I was wondering if I'd ever get to see you slip up. _

Lysithea wasn't far behind; she hurtled between two of the caskets and turned behind a pillar, then threw a blast of magic – Swarm, of all spells. Claude almost pitied the assassin the black magic spell engulfed – while Raphael barreled past her and slammed his gauntlet into the face of another foot soldier. He then narrowly dodged an ax aimed at his back and knocked his would-be killer to the ground with a flurry of punches.

No hesitation, and perfect coordination. This was what Teach had turned them into – a highly competent team of warriors. _Father and mother will love her. _

Stepping into Dimitri's shadow, Claude grasped his wrist for a moment and murmured, “Don't loose control on me, Mitya.”

“I promise, I am perfectly clear-headed right now,” Dimitri growled in response.

_Somehow that's not very comforting, _Claude thought worriedly, outwardly, however, he just nodded. “Let's go...”

By chance he glanced at the floor, glittering lights catching his eye. The Crest Stones that the Empire soldiers had been trying to abscond with were scattered across the blood-splattered stone floor, dropped not far from the broken bodies of the would-be thieves. The stones were...odd, to say the least; they were about the size of his fist, golden and covered in lines of ruby red that seemed to sink into the stone just a bit. _These look familiar... _A memory stirred; Miklan being consumed by sickening dark liquid that was spreading across him from a particular part of the Lance of Ruin. _...Is that why the Emperor wants them? Atra said that they can artificially transform people into Demonic Beasts; could it really be that simple? By the blazing flames, there must be dozens of them here...what the fuck? Is this how you view the people you plan to rule over, Emperor? As expendable pieces of meat?_

Grimacing, he quickly stooped down and snatched three stones off the ground. They were distractedly warm in his hands...he could swear he felt them pulsing softly, like a heartbeat. Quickly he deposited them in his pockets, disturbed.

“Everyone, stay on top of those crest stones!” He called out loudly, hoping that everyone could hear him – and really wished that he'd thought to convince Yuri at least to come with them. _His ability to control the battlefield cannot be underestimated. _“Or else we'll be drowning in demonic beasts!”

“Seriously?!” Leonie's furious shriek echoed from the opposite side of the room. “You sick bastards! You think I'll let you do that again, after what happened to Captain Jeralt?” Claude winced a bit when he heard her skewer someone.

_Yeah, they'll manage, _He thought ruefully, hurrying forward to keep up with Dimitri. The prince had moved forward to another casket and was brawling with another pair of empire soldiers. A third was aiming at his back with a spell in hand; Claude shot him down without pausing and then turned his aim over Dimitri's shoulder. “Dimitri, duck,” he warned before letting an arrow fly.

For a split second, he was afraid that Dimitri hadn't heard him – or worse, was just ignoring him. Thankfully his prince dropped to one knee in time, causing the arrow to whisk harmlessly past him and slam into the throat of his enemy. Without needing any prompting, Dimitri stabbed his other opponent in the leg with a dagger before dropping it and grabbing the man's leg. Claude rushed up behind him as Dimitri forcibly unbalanced the man, throwing him to the floor.

He stood up smoothly and then violently slammed his foot down on the soldier's throat. A horrible _crack _of bone breaking hit Claude's ears like a physical force; he watched in morbid horror as the man gurgled and died.

Dimitri, meanwhile, merely snorted in contempt.

_Asch, bind my will to yours...! _“_Dimitri,_” Claude hissed, grabbing his arm. The prince spun and stared at him, blue eyes blazing and full of rage that only softened a bit when they settled on him. “Don't loose yourself.._please_.”

Dimitri looked at him in silence for a moment before shuddering and giving his head a firm shake. “I'm sorry,” He said, almost inaudible beneath the din of battle. His expression had softened just a bit.

Claude managed a smile, feeling relief flicker through him. “Help me get those,” He said urgently, kneeling to grab the fallen Crest Stones from the floor. Dimitri rapidly dropped to do the same, after taking a quick look around to ensure they and Lady Rhea weren't about to be set upon. Lysithea was poised at the edge of the first pillar alongside Raphael, glaring darkly in the Flame Emperor's direction. As he collected stones, Claude looked up and took stock of the battlefield.

Lorenz, Dedue and Ignatz had a large number of bodies scattered in front of them, only a few still alive but too weak to move. At some point Felix and Bernadetta had doubled back to help them protect Byleth who still lay unconscious on the throne. _Am I imagining things, _Claude wondered uncertainly, _or is the light around her getting brighter? Sothis, what's going on over there..._

Across the room, he could see Glenn seamlessly fighting off three, four enemies virtually by himself. Leonie had overstretched, apparently; Ingrid was pulling her back closer to Marianne. Mercedes was at the back of the room, her attention fully on the students at the base of the throne; meanwhile, Flayn was throwing fireballs at a couple of mages to keep them away from Annette and Glenn. Sylvain was leading the front at the moment, swinging a silver lance with surprising speed from him. Annette was healing occasionally, but mostly focusing on casting fire and sagitte.

Everyone was on their feet, and still fighting; no one was visibly flagging yet. _But we're still outnumbered...damn it, if only there was some way to alert the knights upstairs! The one problem with being as deep underground as I think we are; there's a good chance no one in the monastery even suspects we're in trouble! _“Dimitri, we should fall back to the others,” He said.

“But Claude, he's right there!” Dimitri protested vehemently, not looking away from the raised platform the two enemy commanders were standing on.

“Yeah, and he wants us to make a mistake!” Claude retorted firmly. “Remember what happened when Ingrid overreached during the battle of the eagle and lion?”

“I can-”

“You promised me something, Dimitri. Do you remember? Did you mean it?” It was one of the few times Claude hated being underhanded – especially given the stricken look the blonde gave him in response. But this rage was scaring him; and he'd told himself he'd protect Dimitri even from himself... “_Trust me and fall back._”

Dimitri let out a shaky breath; for a second, Claude feared that he was going to ignore him. But after a painful uncertain moment, the prince offered him a bloody hand. “They're targeting Byleth too...” He mumbled. “Do you think they know?”

“Considering what Atra told me about Jeralt's death? I think they have to,” Claude muttered; then he raised his voice. “Lady Rhea, we're gonna get overrun like this! We need to fall back! Lysithea, watch our backs while running, alright?!”

“Of course I will!” The white-haired girl shouted back, pushing hard on Raphael's arm. The brawler yelped, and tumbled back a few steps – saving himself from a dozen or so Miasma spells hitting the ground around where he'd been standing moments ago. Lysithea cast Luna in retaliation before pushing Raphael again, before rushing back a little bit and grabbing Cyril by the arm. “Lady Rhea?!”

The archbishop straightened up at his voice; her expression was still stormy, blood caking most of her dress. Her hair had come loose from her headdress, which she'd lost at some point, so it fell around her face. Her light green eyes were wide and unseeing – or perhaps it was more accurate that she was seeing something they weren't. Claude had seen expressions like that within some of the warriors he'd known growing up – seeing a living echo of a previous battle while they were awake. “Cyril...” She muttered, a strange accent hovering over the syllables of her ward's name. “The Crest Stones...I must...I have to-”

“We've got them, Lady Rhea,” Lysithea interrupted, grabbing the older woman's free hand. Claude flinched, expecting Rhea to lash out and strike her.

Thankfully, Rhea merely rounded on her and stared intently through eyes narrowed into slits. There was a franticness in her gaze, lying beneath the rage and contempt burning like a wildfire. “Truly?” She demanded. “They're more precious then you know! If those monsters have retrieved a single one of them-!”

“_We have them,_” Lysithea responded with a steely calm. “We need to fall back now. Check on the others and the Professor. Form a united front.” She tugged fiercely on the older woman's arm, seemingly unafraid of her shocking change of demeanor. “We're outnumbered!”

That seemed to get through the haze surrounding Rhea, as she nodded tightly and began to hurry back on her own power. _Perhaps being reminded that Teach is out of commission knocked a little sense back into her, _Claude thought dryly as he walked backwards, firing arrows at the mages attempted to give chase them.

“What are you fools doing?!” Metody shrieked as the two classes rushed back, haphazardly reuniting in front of the stairs to the throne. Claude smirked innocently and waved back at him; Dimitri chuckled darkly at the gesture. “They're a handful of children! You're the pride of the Empire! Kill them and take back those crest stones!”

Claude made a production of yawning. “You talk a big game for someone who's been humiliated by this 'handful of children' once before. You're so incompetent you can't even steal from us...what makes you think that you can kill us?”

“Bastard!” Metody shrieked. “I'll teach you to make a fool of me!”

“Wow...I'm pretty sure that's exactly the same thing you said to me when Yuri and I sprung our trap on you months ago.” Claude snorted and gave the Emperor a pitying look. “Is this really who you're relying on to 'change Fodlan'? Incompetents, murderers and _underground rats_?” He punctuated the last words by tapping his foot meaningfully on the floor.

Rhea's head snapped towards him, staring intently. Claude thought the Emperor might have twitched, but there was too much distance between them to tell.

“You say that like usurpers create their armies out of anyone else,” Glenn said contemptuously. “Fools, killers and manipulated children.”

“Do you know the names of the children who died in Remire?” Leonie asked challengingly, glaring in the Emperor's direction. “Don't worry. I asked Captain Jeralt; I remember them, and I'm going to carve each and every one of them into your skull.”

“You're one of _their _allies,” Lysithea growled. Her hands were clenched into fists. “I'll never forgive you...ever.”

Metody was literally shaking with rage; he swung his gaze wildly around the room where the rest of the dozens of soldiers were hovering across from them, watching their opponents warily. “What are you all doing?! Go! Kill them! Must I lead everything myself-?”

“_**Shut up, you fool.”**_ The Flame Emperor said flatly. “_**Our trump card is awakening now.**_”

_Trump card? _Claude blinked, then cursed before reaching into his quiver for his anti-beast arrows.

Moments before he could start to vocalize his strategy for closing in on the Emperor and Metody in spite of the soldiers surrounding them, several loud screams sounded at once, capturing the attention of the entire room. The number of mages in black cloaks – if they weren't Agarthans, Claude would take dish duty from Hilda – stepped away from four men dressed in civilian imperial clothes. Those men were thrashing and screaming, clawing at their heads as hideous black light poured out of glowing red circles in the center of their chests. Glenn swore bitterly as those four people warped and transformed into the same sort of demonic beasts they'd fought in the back courtyard years ago.

“This is the person who wants to change Fodlan?” Bernadetta whimpered in disbelief as the monsters roared in bloody hunger. “What good c-could come from h-handing power to someone who c-can do this without hesitation?” She straightened up slowly, jutting her chin out and staring across the hall to the Flame Emperor. “You...you don't value your people's lives any more than my father does! You'd never be a good ruler. You'd just be one more tyrant. And I...I won't let you! I won't let you take my f-friends, or the Crest Stones, or Fodlan! We're...definitely going to stop you!”

Claude twisted to give her a pat on the head, only to be surprised to see that someone had beaten him too it. Felix was grinning – honestly grinning, that was something you didn't see every day – and placed his free hand on the top of Bernadetta's head. “Damn right,” the dedicated sword master said no small amount of admiration.

The demonic beasts began to storm their way toward the group of students. “Lysithea,” Claude started to say; but a blast of magical power from behind him cut him off and nearly knocked him off his feet in the bargain.

Spinning around, Claude found himself facing a blinding light.

The throne – and Byleth – had completely vanished within a column of golden-green light; waves of magic, Sothis's magic, poured forward in waves, rushing over him and setting all of his nerves on fire. The light was so blinding he had to shut his eyes; he heard cries of shock and discomfort coming from everywhere in the room, not just his friends.

_What's happening-?_

He heard a crackle, the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheathe, and then _movement_.

Something flew over their heads and landed with a crash on the floor, the stone cracking under the impact. Claude stumbled backward, frantically blinking the stars out of his eyes as he tried to focus on the figure that was now in front of him... Even as his vision was blurry, he heard a familiar glass-shatter like noise and saw a blazing red light whip out above them and then fly forward – aimed right at one of the massive black shadows approaching them.

His vision slowly came into focus as the blazing red light wrapped around the demonic beast's neck, directly in front of him. Seconds later there was an almighty _crash – _the sound of the magic barrier breaking! – and the blade tore through the black flesh and bone, ripping the head right off in one smooth movement. The beast that had taken five students attacking it simultaneously fell dead under a single attack.

Claude blinked a few times, clearing his eyes and slowly turning his head to see...her.

* * *

Byleth stood in front of them, slowly straightening from the three-point landing pose she'd been in. Her blue hair had turned a familiar light emerald green; it hadn't grown long and curly the way it did when Sothis took over, instead staying her usual style. Held in her hand was the Sword of the Creator...which was literally blazing with magic, boiling with heat that he'd never felt from it before – even when she'd used it to carve a trench into the mountains of Duscur. Light poured out of the circular hole that had been in the hilt; it hurt to look at. And hovering by her side was the flickering image of Sothis, hovering in the air with one hand on her host's shoulder.

_She – she changed...the throne really did something...but what?_

“Teach?” He asked nervously, taking half a step towards her.

Byleth turned slightly towards him. Her eyes, now the same bright emerald as her hair, were warm and full of calm confidence. It was her smile; not a frightening combination of hers and Sothis like he'd almost been expecting. Sothis winked at him in turn, playful and reassuring as ever.

Then Byleth turned her attention to the three demonic beasts that were circling around them, and her expression flattened into something serious. “Allow me to demonstrate,” she said evenly.

She gestured sharply for them to stay and then ran forward. Claude started to protest – Dimitri ran forward a few steps – but they both stopped when they saw what happened next.

Byleth ducked past a blast of flame from one of the beasts and swung the blade in an upward arc. Each part of the sword seemed to catch fire; it hit the side of the demonic beast and _cut through it –_ the air snapped and _crackled_ upon the impact, the individual blades carving through flesh and bone like it was tissue paper. Claude felt his mouth drop open as the beast's two halves fell to the ground; Byleth, however, didn't wait for admiration. She jumped over the beast's head as it turned to dust and slung the blade again, aiming for the head of one of the remaining beasts.

This time the head of the blade struck roughly the center of the beast's face, above the crest stone nose and between its eyes. It tore through the flesh and smashed through the skull; Byleth stepped back and nonchalantly pulled back on the hilt; with a _snap, _the blade tore its way out the top of the beast's head, splitting it like a melon and causing it to drop dead.

“W-What's happened?” Cyril asked, a little ashen-faced.

Sothis's figure flickered and vanished into Byleth as the young professor jumped over the last beast's swipe, landing on its arm and climbing up onto its back. About halfway down, she spun on her heel, swung the blade straight up so it reformed into a single smooth blade, and then brought it down. The impact sent a shockwave that hit Claude in the chest, causing him to reel back a few steps; the beast split in half, allowing Byleth to drop to the floor with ease.

“The fell star!” One of the Agarthans screamed, backing away.

Byleth raised her head, sweeping her gaze over the cowering, stunned remainder of their enemies as the remains of the Demonic Beasts dissolved into dust and still human bodies. “My name is Byleth,” She said sharply.

Rhea made a noise that Claude couldn't interpret, but filed away for later analysis.

Then she gestured for them to come forward, and all thoughts aside from dealing with the Flame Emperor and his pets fell away. Questions could come later. Bernadetta squeaked before running after him, a laughing Felix at her heels; that snapped everyone else out of their stunned shock and they followed suit, rushing towards their now thoroughly demoralized enemies.

The results were pandemonium. Byleth swung the Creator's Sword in a wide arc, sending out a shockwave that sent every soldier except Metody and the Flame Emperor, who'd retreated to the back of the room, flying several feet before crashing to the ground. Bernadetta summoned her own Crest and fired a ghostly volley at the soldiers on the left side, nailing those who had been starting to stand up and clearing the way for Felix to dart up the stairwell toward Metody. Claude vaguely heard Glenn let out an exasperated curse before he changed course to back up his brother and the purple-haired archer. Dimitri, meanwhile, had turned off to the side to help Sylvain who was a little caught up with a couple of mages who had surrounded him. Raphael was right on his heels, grabbing one man by the waist and bodily throwing him over his shoulder, stunning him and leaving him at Cyril's mercy. Lysithea threw blasts of Miasma and Luna at the Flame Emperor, forcing their enemy onto the defensive and to shy away from her or die.

Claude eyed the raised platform and glanced back at Byleth, who casually spun in place and punched an ax man who had been attempting to sneak up on her. The man – rather like that knight who had pissed off Dimitri so long ago – was thrown backwards several feet and landed in a heap on the floor. “I'm going to do my job,” He said easily. “Watch me?”

“That's a bad idea,” Byleth protested even as she prepared to do just that. Chuckling quietly, Claude then grabbed the stone and casually flipped up onto the platform.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Metody had engaged Felix who was pressuring him hard. Closing one eye, he drew an arrow and fired slightly to the left of the irritating man. Sure enough, Felix forced him to the side just in time for it to hit its mark; Metody screamed and dropped to one knee. Without hesitation, Felix spun his blade and carved the man's head off. Glenn and Bernadetta were watching his back, so Claude could turn entirely and face their adversary.

“Seriously, where do you find these people?” He scoffed.

The Flame Emperor sneered at him; he wasn't sure how he knew that's what that reaction meant, with that face plate in the way, but something about his posture was naggingly familiar. “_**Is everything a joke to you?”**_ That synthetic voice snapped.

“Smiling keeps me calm.” Claude dodged past a telegraphed ax attack and fired two arrows at her back. It was a delaying action, and a deliberate one. There was a few things he wanted to clarify before he let Lady Rhea carve the intruder up. “Go ahead an enlighten me – what are you planning to use the Crest Stone for? Or are you just Thales's errand boy in this particular matter?”

That got a shocked reaction – it even made the next ax blow swing wide. Claude felt his grin widen as he danced past and around his opponent. _**“How do you know that name?”**_

“The same way I know about Agartha – I made a good friend.” He chuckled. “Oh, did you not know I knew about that? Oooh, that's a shame; I've been working with that information for months now.”

The Flame Emperor spun around; ooh, he was definitely angry, and at least a _little_ worried. “By the way, I'm amazed that the people who consider you and I nothing more than animals and cattle are letting you run around without a handler – is that what makes you believe you're the one in control of your alliance?” Claude asked snarkily, shooting at his opponent again. “Or do you just think there's no way some 'underground rats' can outwit a proper noble of the Empire?”

**“_Silence! You know nothing of what this cost me._**”

Claude scoffed, taking a step back. He could see Byleth out of the corner of his eye, and resisted the urge to laugh mirthlessly. “No, but I know what it cost Faerghus and Duscur. And I know that their noble spy is in for a bad time very soon.” The Flame Emperor tensed up. “So, with the dead children I saw in Remire in mind...all I want to know is why. Why the blazing flames are you helping them? What do you get out of this?”

“**_It doesn't matter...because you _won't be alive to see it!**” Oh, he'd definitely made the armored knight mad. He charged straight at Claude, ax swinging at his face -

-only to clang uselessly against the Sword of the Creator as Byleth warped in front of him, glaring ferociously. She was intense and beautiful and a vision come to life, and Claude spared a second to marvel at the knowledge that she was his.

“No,” Byleth said simply. Then she threw the Emperor back several feet with one arm, before lowering her arm and letting the sword rest at her side.

_...Hey...that hole in the hilt is full of light now...Failnaught has a hole that's filled with a stone...I wonder if that means something? _Claude shook his head and refocused on her. _What in the world happened upon that throne? _

“_**Your body...”**_ The Emperor growled, standing up straight and heaving his ax again. Claude's eyebrows shot up. Despite seeing this sword rip through four demonic beasts in so many seconds, he was still going to fight against her? _...All credit for persistence, I guess... **“So it happened. You're lost to me. You've given yourself as a slave to the goddess and her church.”**_

...Even if Claude had been blind, he would have known straight away that was the Wrongest Thing anyone had ever said to Byleth – perhaps ever. As he _could _see, however, he was rewarded with the sight of Byleth's whole body going rigid, her knuckles whitening on the hilt of the sword as a white hot rage flooding her entire being. “_Slave_?” She hissed, stalking forward. “Slave?! She is my friend! She. Is. My. _**Friend!**_”

She slung the Creator's Sword directly at the Flame Emperor's face, aimed in such a way it probably would have ripped him in half with ease. He brought the ax up to defend himself; the black weapon took the brunt of the hit and snapped in half, while the sword kept going.

It tore through the helmet, mask and down the front of the armor – not deeply enough to cut into the flesh of the wearer's chest, but causing it to split apart and fall to the floor on either side.

White hair fell down like a silk curtain around a very familiar face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Sorry, I couldn't help myself. I needed to get Byleth's reaction to the reveal in the moment and the buildup to the invasion. So...have another cliffhanger? (smiles sheepishly).


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth tries to deal with the reprecussions of the Flame Emperor's identity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter flowed so easily, it surprised me. I guess it's because I've been thinking about how this bit would flow for a long while even before I got close to this part of the story. 
> 
> So...have another quick update!

“_She – she was right about one thing. I've remembered something...I remembered the last thing that happened before I went to sleep. Byleth, Agartha must be stopped, no matter what.” _

“_I knew that already...what's wrong, Sothis? What have you remembered?”_

“_This is not the time! The delinquents are in danger! Take my heart, Byleth. I've already lived one mortal life; take my heart and use it to save many more.”_

“_B-But...won't that hurt you?”_

“_Haha! My dear Byleth, you could not destroy me if you tried. Don't worry. It's merely what's left of my mortal life. I'm giving it to you...my dear friend.”_

* * *

A dear friend. Those words, having filled her with happiness when Sothis spoke them to her, now sat like a rock in her stomach as she stared dumbfounded at the real face of the Flame Emperor.

It felt like suspended time, except she could hear the chorus of '_WHAT?' _and '_no way!_' and '_E-Edelgard?_' erupting from her friends and students. She heard something akin to a strangled shriek of outrage from Lady Rhea. How could she hear them when she was stuck in that moment, staring at the face of Edelgard von Hersvelg as blood trickled down her face between her eyes?

It was a dream. It didn't make sense. Edelgard...she was their friend, wasn't she? She fought alongside them, ate alongside them...she'd nearly died protecting the girl before. They'd eaten at the same table. She'd – she'd thought they were friends. Wasn't that right? She'd seen Edelgard smile at her. Laugh with her. Try to get her attention.

But all this time...

She arranged the attack on the Holy Masoleum, and by extension Magdred Way?

She ordered the Death Knight to kidnap Flayn and those other people?

Metody was on her payroll even when they were struggling to protect the Chalice?

Maybe she wasn't involved in Remire. She claimed that she wasn't. But she was involved with Agartha, and she didn't stop them from poisoning her home.

She ordered...the attack that killed her father?

“You've got to be kidding me,” Claude's voice floated from right beside her. Somehow, the fact that he sounded genuinely as stunned as her wasn't comforting in the slightest. “Edelgard?” He hadn't seen this coming...but how could any of them have seen this coming?

“Haha...hahaha!”

Dimitri's laughter snapped her out of her trance. Byleth's head snapped away from Edelgard, following the familiar voice to a worrying sight.

Dimitri was trembling from head to toe, one hand pressed against his face, laughing mirthlessly in an increasingly unsteady (and rising) tone. Byleth had heard this sort of laughter before; when someone was presented with a reality they couldn't cope with. A worried looking Bernadetta was visibly edging towards him, one hand stretched out, only for Felix to grab her shoulder and hold her back. His posture was tense as a strung bow...

“_Why do you call him that?”_

“_Ask him yourself.”_

“Dimitri?” Glenn called out, alarmed.

“Is this some kind of twisted **_joke_**?!” Dimitri demanded when his laughter suddenly broke off. His voice...goddess, Byleth couldn't describe it. There was venom, fury, and honest desperation mixed into a cry the likes of which she'd never heard before. He sounded like he was...pleading with his stepsister to tell him this was a lie even as his mind broke down under the weight of his pain and rage.

In return...Edelgard said nothing. She didn't even look at him; she was staring at Byleth with a blank expression, chin jutted out like she was daring them to judge her. For wearing that armor. For...for causing all the pain and death that they now knew they could lay at her feet...

Byleth's hand tightened around the Sword of the Creator. Sothis didn't urge her to strike, only leaving the phantom feeling of her hand clasped on top of hers. What should she do?

She didn't get a chance to think about it – in a few split seconds, the choice was taken from her.

“Dimitri!” “Your Majesty!”

The voices came from two different directions – Byleth stumbled back a step, her body jerking as it tried to react in completely different ways. Because of that, her eyes could only catch the blur of Dimitri suddenly moving and throwing his lance directly at Edelgard's head. His hands must have been shaking, though, because it missed her by a slim margin and slammed into the wall. Seconds after _that_, Hubert appeared (_of course he was there, involved in all of this, where Edelgard went he went_) and grabbed a hold of her. Claude snapped out of the shock faster than her and was already on the draw; Hubert went to cover his master, however, and the arrow impaled his shoulder instead of Edelgard's neck – then there was a flash of familiar pinkish light, and both of them were gone.

Claude started to curse and didn't stop as the chamber erupted into noise; everyone was talking over everyone else and the noise was ringing in her ears.

Above all the clamor, however, she could hear Rhea screaming after Edelgard.

“To flee is futile, wicked girl! The Church of Serios will raise it's entire army against you until you are captured and punished!” The saintly woman sounded utterly unhinged, her voice shuddering in a strange way. “You have defiled the Holy Tomb, dishonored the goddess and humiliated your brethren. That crime will never be erased, even if you burn in the eternal flames and spill all your blood into the goddesses soil!”

That, of all things, was what finally snapped Byleth out of her trance. _Okay, this stops _**_now. _**

“Everyone,” She rasped, fumblingly regaining control of her vocal cords. Once she'd done that, she spun on her heel and raised her voice. “Everyone, listen to me!”

All but Dimitri spontaneously shut up and spun around to face her. Her prince, however, didn't seem to have heard her. He was more shaken then the night at Remire village; seemingly unaware of everyone else,

Byleth jumped down from the upper staircase, making her way toward the blonde, who was still trembling violently, shaky laughter spilling between the gaps in his fingers which he'd buried his face in.

She wasn't the only one, however. Bernadetta wrestled her way free of Felix's protective grasp and darted straight to the unstable prince. Without hesitation she jumped and threw her arms around his shoulder, hugging him tightly and pressing her forehead against his shoulder. “Dimitri, you're home,” She said shakily. “Dimitri, you're home. It's over. Can you hear me?”

The prince shuddered violently and grabbed her in his hands. His blue eyes were wild and hazed over; staring unseeingly past both Byleth and Bernadetta. Undeterred by the harsh grip he seized her in, Bernadetta pulled back a bit and grabbed his face in her hands, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Dimitri. Dimitri, look at me and tell me you're okay. Look at me and come home.”

Dimitri took a step back...and his disturbed laughter slowly died away. He blinked again and again, slowly seeming to focus on Bernadetta as she pressed her fingertips against his cheekbones. Felix had stalled mere feet away from having darted at him, watching in dumbfounded awe as Dimitri let out a long, shuddering breath and shook his head. Then he blinked again, and finally focused on the petite purple-haired girl. “Bernadetta...” He swallowed and gingerly set her down on the ground – he'd lifted her in a fit of blind mania. “I-I'm sorry.”

“You can see me,” Bernadetta said in relief. She pulled his head down so their foreheads were touching. “It's scary, to disappear inside yourself. For years I didn't have anyone to pull me out...I would fall down, down, down and loose myself completely.” She let go and took a small step backwards. “But I'm okay now...Professor can pull me out. And Felix, and Claude. So...they can pull you out too, okay?”

“...Okay.” Dimitri said softly. His hands were still trembling...but apart from that he seemed to be more like himself again...

There was a soft _whoosh _of a breath being let out; Byleth glanced slightly to the side and saw Claude standing by her side again, relief now prominent among the shock, worry, and disbelief running rampant inside him.

Bernadetta stepped to the side, turning attentively towards Byleth. Felix continued to stare at her, looking both stunned and rather in awe, before Glenn tapped him on the shoulder and murmured something that made him jolt and smack his brother on the shoulder. Judging by Glenn's faint smirk, he must have made a joke at his little brother's expense.

“Everyone...” Byleth closed her eyes for a moment. “We have to go and alert the rest of the church. Tell them to prepare for war.”

Naturally, this caused the frantic babble to start right back up again. “War?! Professor, are you certain-?” That was either Lorenz or Ingrid, it was hard to tell with so many people talking. “She can't possibly be that crazy-” That was Raphael, no doubt. “What are we going to do?!” Ignatz, the poor boy, was shaking in horror. “War? But why?!” Sylvain or Leonie... “Are you sure?” Was that Cyril?, he sounded fairly calm...

“**_Listen!_**” Byleth shouted, calling upon a bit of Sothis's power to project her voice. Again her students quieted down and Rhea gave her a strange _look_ that she did not have the time or patience to puzzle out right now. “Edelgard coming here with her forces is an act of war. There's no doubt about that. Whether it's a war against the church, or all of us, she has not said yet, but if she's going to war with the church then I don't doubt that the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is a target of hers as well. Undoubtedly she is going to deliver some sort of manifesto in the coming weeks to sum up her goal...as she is clearly Emperor now.”

Focusing on the facts cleared her head. Sothis's hand on hers helped as well. “All we can do now is prepare. Those of you who have noble holdings, write home and warn them about the coming storm. In fact, the rest of you might want to do the same just in case. Other than that...we should go and inform Seteth and the Knights so we can discuss defense and evacuation plans.”

She looked around the room, seeing the dead or prone bodies of the invaders scattered everywhere and the anxious stares of her students. Letting out a breath, she clapped her hands together sharply. “Now, everyone, not later!”

That snapped her students out of their stupor. They scrambled for the stairwells as Byleth reached out and grabbed Dimitri's wrist, giving him a concerned look and mouthing out _stay with me. _He nodded weakly in response and followed her toward the stairs.

“Lady Rhea?” Byleth pre-empted when the archbishop fell in step with her. The woman had clearly planned on saying something, but she had enough to think about right now. Any questions about the throne and what Rhea knew about her and Sothis would have to wait until a less dire time. “How defensive is Garreg Mach in a war scenario?”

Rhea frowned for a moment, her expression steely. “This blessed monastery has never been sacked before,” She said with cold confidence. “With the mother's faith, it never shall be.”

_That's almost a thousand years...well, that's comforting at least. _“I see. Please tell me about the defenses when we inform Seteth...”

“Yes. There is much I have to tell you.” Rhea looked – disappointed? Forlorn and confused? Byleth couldn't figure it out, and was too distracted to ask.

* * *

Pandemonium seemed to be the name of the day.

Dorothea and Linhardt were standing with a very white-faced Seteth when she and Lady Rhea returned to the second floor cathedral, both looking extremely rattled. Dorothea all but ran to her and grabbed her in a hug the instant Byleth was in range; the singer was trembling in fear and confusion... Byleth gently patted her back, returning the hug and trying to transmit as much reassurance as she could muster.

“What happened?” She asked, checking Dorothea for injuries. Fortunately she seemed completely unharmed except for a few scrapes and bruises.

“We stayed behind...” Linhardt said. His voice was trembling a bit. “Edelgard and Hubert came into the Black Eagles classroom and proclaimed that the Empire was the future...told us to come with her and make it a reality...”

“That's a very brief summary.” Dorothea sniffed. “Ferdinand, Caspar and Petra went with them...honestly, I'm not sure if Petra had a choice to stay behind...she's a hostage, after all. If she does anything to anger the Empire, Brigid suffers for it.”

Byleth exhaled a long breath, squeezing Dorothea tight before gently disentangling herself from the singer. Then she strode over to Linhardt and pulled the green-haired boy into a hug while Rhea stormed over to Seteth, wrath wafting off her every footstep. “Are you alright?” She asked gently.

“No, not really,” Linhardt murmured. His fingers slowly dug into her sides as he contemplated what was in store for them. “War...war means bloodshed. Rivers of it. All that blood...spilled carelessly, and for what?”

“I'm sure Edelgard has a reason.” _Of course, I didn't really know her at all, did I? _She forced the thought aside, lest the young priest read it in her body language. “Do you think your father will fall in with her?”

“I can't see how she could have become Emperor under everyone's nose in spite of the Insurrection unless she's already swayed him to his side,” Linhardt said tiredly. He freed himself from her hug and gave her an extremely anxious look. “Professor...what should I do? Where should I go? I can't go home, or I'll have to fight for the Empire...I...”

Byleth gently brushed a stray strand of hair away from his face; Sothis urging the motion along. “It's okay, Linhardt. You have a place with us. No matter what happens in the next few weeks, you'll have sanctuary in the Kingdom or the Alliance. You too, Dorothea.”

The green-haired boy let out a moan of relief and hugged his chest; Dorothea looked no less grateful. “Thank you.”

“Professor,” Seteth called, getting her attention. She turned on her heel, gazing at him at attention; this allowed her to see him full-body flinch and stare at her in shock for a few seconds before shaking his head. _What in the world?, _she wondered. “Please, go and reassure the students and the faculty. Rhea and I must discuss what we're going to do next.”

“As you say,” Byleth said with a nod. _Thank goodness; I have to go and get a hold of Yuri. _“Linhardt, Dorothea, come with me. We'll get you situated with the others.”

Clasping Linhardt's hand in hers, she lead the two out of the room at a trot, still feeling Rhea's eyes on her back until the doors swung shut behind her.

“I was friends with Edie,” Dorothea murmured as they entered the stairwell and began to descend. “She never even gave a hint...I thought I knew her.”

“So did I. Don't blame yourself.”

_Well, don't say that just for her sake, _Sothis said quietly. _What few signs there were – if indeed there were any that we could have noticed in time – were insufficient to reveal her intentions to you. With everything that was happening-_

_-that was happening because of her. Including my father's death. _A dull, burning heat was sitting in the bottom of Byleth's chest, burning and squeezing to the point of causing pain.

_So it seems, _Sothis said solemnly. Byleth was unduly grateful that the goddess didn't attempt to convince her otherwise, or worse, tell her not to feel angry. _Are you going to speak with the mercenaries?_

_After I go into Abyss and find the others._

Doing all of this, of course, would take a while.

She caught sight of Claude pulling Dimitri outside; she loathed the fact that she couldn't go straight to him and ask what happened in the tomb, but she knew Claude would take care of him, and she had other immediate responsibilities. Dropping off Dorothea and Linhardt in the Blue Lions classroom where Sylvain, Ingrid, Lysithea, Marianne, Lorenz and Ashe were all frantically writing letters, she briefly inquired where the others were. Felix wasn't hard to find – he was standing in the corner with Bernadetta, reminding her that her father was going to have to fight his way past him and the combined classes to get his hands on her; she was still shaky and scared, but she wasn't panicking. Cyril had gone off to find Catherine and Shamir, both of whom were in the Knight's Hall. Leonie had gone off to find the mercenaries, ahead of Byleth herself – something she appreciated.

Finding the faculty made something else uncomfortably obvious – Hannamen was gone, apparently having gone on leave weeks ago; incidentally at the same time that Edelgard briefly traveled out to tend to an important matter in the Empire. Manuela had stayed behind, however, and she was keeping a semblance of order among the panicking staff who'd gotten word of the attack. Alois, meanwhile, had been attacked by Empire plants in town when he'd confronted a suspicious 'merchant group' who'd actually been soldiers; Byleth visited him in the hospital, fearing the worst. Thankfully he would recover in short order according to Manuela; he just needed bed rest. His usual cheer was greatly reduced when she spoke to him, though he reiterated his previous promise to protect her in spite of everything.

Gilbert was in the hallway; she nearly ran past him on her way to Abyss, but stopped when he called her name. “I need to return to the Kingdom,” He said solemnly, much to her relief. “This upheaval...the prince and Lord Rodrigue will both need support.”

“As will your daughter,” Byleth said pointedly, before nodding. “Thank you, Sir Gilbert. Knowing you'll be on the field defending Dimitri and Annette eases my mind.”

His eyebrows shot up, dismay in his eyes. “They intend to stay in fight? They should return to the kingdom immediately.”

“That would be ideal, but the roads are too dangerous. If the Empire had that many men within the monastery itself, we can't assume they haven't staked out the roads out of the monastery to catch anyone attempting to flee.” Byleth shook her head. “Especially since the Empire has a fondness or hostages. If they were to capture any of the deer or the lions...”

“No, you're right.” Gilbert said with a defeated sigh. “I wish there was more I could do...”

“Hopefully both the Kingdom and the Alliance will send reinforcements.” He gave her a startled look; she gave him a bemused half smile. “Claude thinks that Edelgard's top priority is razing Garreg Mach, and everything it symbolizes, in a hail of hellfire. He's been right more often than not. That's why everyone's writing for help right now.”

“I see...he's truly a brilliant young man; worthy of his name.”

Byleth nodded. That wasn't everything – not by a long shot – but it was all she had the time to bring up. Saying a brief goodbye she continued her rush to the closest entrance to Abyss.

It was a sign of what was in store for them that there were a group of Knights of Serios standing alongside the Abyss keeper without any trouble whatsoever. Byleth waved at him, and he gestured for her to enter without pause. Darting down the stairwell, she found herself in the 'square' where Yuri, Balthus, Constance, Hapi and Atra were all waiting for her.

“What in the blazing flames happened up there?” Yuri asked, alarm flickering across his face. Seeing him visibly uneasy had the same effect on her that seeing Claude obviously uneasy did – it reminded her of how dire the situation they were now in was. “The monastery's buzzing like a kicked hornet's nest and there are a dozen dead Empire soldiers being dumped in a mass grave.” He blinked twice. “And...what happened to your hair and eyes?”

“Sothis gave me her heart,” Byleth responded by way of explanation. Atra let out a disbelieving squeaking noise. “She's still here, but she gave her mortal life to me. It's a long story, and what happened in the tomb is more immediately important.”

And so she launched into an explanation. As she talked, Yuri and Atra's expressions both morphed into grave worry and horrified outrage, respectively; Constance paled dramatically while a group of abyss dwellers crowded around in a circle, listening with increasing cries of alarm.

Once she finished, Yuri stared at her for a moment, then closed his eyes, pinched his nose, and – mimicking his adoptive brother in scheming – started to swear very inventively. Atra was virtually vibrating in place, gripping her sword hilts like they were the only things keeping her alive. “Damn her,” She spat, “damn her to the blazing hells. A war? Against _Fodlan_?”

“She hasn't released a manifesto yet, but Claude seems to think so. Save the worst of your swearing for when we get it,” Byleth urged, raising her voice so the panicking civilians would hear it too. As one, they quieted and stared at her.

“So if we're not allowed to curse and panic...what _do _we do now, Prof?” Balthus asked, cracking his knuckles and watching her patiently.

“We prepare.” Byleth responded firmly. “Yuri, Claude is fairly certain that Edelgard plans to try and raze Garreg Mach to the ground. Does Abyss have any sort of evacuation plan?”

“In theory, yes.” Yuri said, immediately switching tact. “Of course, then the question is 'where do we go after that'? We were thrown out of the rest of Fodlan; there aren't a lot of places for us to evacuate _to_ that wouldn't throw us to the wolves.”

She resisted the urge to bite her thumb or do anything to make her frustration visible; these people needed her to stay calm. “If you had sworn offers of protection from local lord ascendants, would that be enough?” She asked.

Yuri's eyebrows shot up. “You think they'd offer?” He asked.

Byleth gave him an exasperated look. “We've fought along side each other, saved each other, and you think you need to ask? You have my protection, at the very least – before we consider anyone else.”

A wave of gasps swept through the civilians. Yuri stared at her for a second and then gave her a little, catlike smile that was much more like the usual him – but also truly sincere. “That...might mean more than anything else,” He mused, clearly remembering the first time he'd seen Sothis. “That's the worst cast scenario though, isn't it?”

“True,” Byleth nodded. “No one down here is expected to fight,” She went on. “If you're willing, it's welcomed, but it is not mandatory. Focus on keeping the young and the frail safe.”

“We will,” Hapi said, “and we're-” She gestured between the five of them. “-going to be going with you, chatterbox. You can count on that.”

Atra nodded solemnly. She was so worked up and upset-looking that Byleth wouldn't be surprised if she was physically incapable of speaking. She reached out and put a hand on the renegade Agarthan's shoulder. “We're going to need your help, Atra,” She said solemnly. “Both your memory and your swords. So stay with me, alright?”

The black haired girl swallowed, staring into her eyes for a moment before nodding. “I will,” She promised. “I don't know for sure what Thales might do to help her...but I have some guesses.”

“My network of rouges might be able to get a hold of information on the Empire's plans and the army ahead of time,” Yuri said thoughtfully. “I'll tell them to put their ears to the ground and stay on their toes. I don't know if we'll get anything useful in time, but it's worth it.”

“Please do...and warn them to be careful,” Byleth looked around the room. “Everyone...hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”

There was a general hum of understanding; their fear wasn't banished – she doubted she would have been able to achieve that, all things considered – but they knew that they had more than one option, and that was enough to quell the hysteria before it could turn into a mob panic. The crowd dispersed, scattering to their various homes; Yuri, meanwhile, rolled his shoulder and made an irritable noise. “Here's the time to go crawling through the tunnels...Balthus, can you give me a hand? Constance, Hapi, feel free to go and brainstorm with our Professor. I imagine a few extra voices in this nightmare are welcome.”

Byleth smiled at the girls, both of whom looked thoughtful. After a moment, a pale Constance turned to her and asked, “Where is Ferdinand, Professor?”

She winced, remembering how happy she had been dancing with the orange-haired boy. “As far as we know, he left with Edelgard. I'm sorry.”

Constance...wilted. It was disturbing enough to see that happen under the sunlight; now it was just sad. “I...I see.” Hapi put a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“I'll give you some time,” Byleth assured her, reaching out and squeezing her hand. The blonde smiled weakly but gratefully in response. Giving them a nod, she turned and started heading back the way she had entered; Yuri was the leader down here, he would be better at organizing them than her. Now she needed to find the mercenaries...

Climbing back into the sunlight, Byleth sucked in a deep breath and pressed both hands against her chest. The tightness and pain was still there, omnipresent. _What's wrong with me?, _she wondered.

_You're anxious, _Sothis said. _Seriously anxious; nothing to be ashamed of, considering what happened._

_...I thought I knew her, _the thought was plaintive, almost childlike. She wished that she could ask her father for advice, and pain shot through her as she remembered yet again that he was gone out of her reach. _What should I have done differently?_

_...You are not responsible for other people's decisions, _Sothis said quietly but firmly. _To be honest, I didn't have any inkling she was anything but what she presented herself as either. I wonder why she felt compelled to do all of this..._

Byleth stopped walking, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. A shiver went down her spine, and she looked up at the cloudy sky. A storm was coming; she could taste ozone in the air. They'd have to pay extra for a fast runner to get their messages to the various parents and lords. _I guess we'll find out, _she thought dully. _I was too stunned to say anything...do anything...I didn't even manage to ask 'why?'._

She felt Sothis leaning against her shoulder, gently humming to soothe her. ..._Thank you,_ Byleth said, feeling herself relax a bit. _Now, Hannah, Robb and the others..._

Her feet carried her down a familiar pathway down the front stairwell, greeting the worried gatekeeper on her way. There was controlled chaos in the town out front, people clumped in groups and dozens of empty, abandoned stalls where Empire plants had been residing. Byleth could feel eyes on her and heard voices calling out to her as she made her way to the stables, where she knew she would find Hannah and Robb. She tried to address everyone she could, soothe panic and saying that they would be protected no matter what happened.

She was getting the same looks she'd gotten from those villagers in the Holy Kingdom...she'd always been aware of it since the day she was given the Sword of the Creator, but now it was more pronounced than ever...

When she managed to make it to the stables, she found Robb, Hannah and Leonie talking in low voices. It wasn't just them, however – most of the mercenaries were there, milling around and talking uneasily with each other.

“Hey there, kid.” Robb said with a wry smile when he noticed her. “Hell of a thing you've gotten stuck in the middle of.”

“You say that like it's a surprise,” Hannah remarked dryly. “She's been in the middle of one thing after another ever since we ended up here.”

“Yeah, but it was nothing like this.” Robb grimaced. He crossed his arms. “This is nothing we've ever faced before. Struggles between local lords, yes. Defying big time lords, yeah. But war?” He shook his head. “This is nothing we've ever done before.” He glanced over his shoulders. “I hope you guys are ready to storm the seventh hell's doorstep!”

“We're ready! We're Jeralt's Mercenaries!” The rest roared back; Byleth could hear Falrie and Juno's voices above the rest. She could even hear Justine, who was always so soft-spoken, shouting as loudly as Hugo and Gustav.

Byleth felt a tug at her heart, and the corners of her eyes blurred. “I'm glad I have you at my back still,” She told them with a shaky voice.

“You're our kid. Where else would we go?” Hannah asked rhetorically. Leonie grinned, walking over and putting an arm around her shoulders. “I hope Balthus has already said as much; he's slipped into our ranks like he's been here all along.”

“Don't worry. I know.” She smiled back at them.

She stayed to talk with them a few more minutes...she only had one more stop to make.

* * *

It took a little time to find Dimitri and Claude. Eventually she tracked them to the library, which was virtually abandoned except for them. “Hey there,” She said softly, closing the door behind her. Dimitri glanced up; he'd had his head in his hands while Claude sat next to him, murmuring in concern. Her golden prince looked exhausted, angry, and grief-stricken all at once; meanwhile, Claude looked deeply relieved to see her.

His eyes were asking for help.

Byleth made her way across the room, pulled a chair up next to Dimitri and pulled him into a hug. He shuddered violently, before grabbing her shoulders and holding her tight. A rough sob escaped his throat, that twisted mingle of rage and pain echoing in the room, and she rubbed his back in response.

What words could help here? _I'm sorry your step sister attempted to murder you without remorse? You need to pull yourself together, she's an enemy now? _None of that would succeed in doing anything but hardening his emotional state. Instead she pulled him close, humming soothingly while Claude stroked his hair.

“Why?” Dimitri asked in a strained voice.

“I don't know.” Byleth whispered. “Not yet.”

Dimitri breathed out heavily. “She made _them _her allies. Those who slaughtered my family.” His fists tightened until his knuckles went white. “I'm going to kill her.” His voice went flat on those words. “I'm going to kill them all.”

That wasn't a statement, it was a _promise. _It sent a shudder down her spine. “Mitya...” She gently tipped his chin up to look at her. “Please, don't do anything you'll regret...”

“I won't regret this,” He promised coldly. His eyes were hazy and fixed on some point past them. “I'll finally be able to put my family's spirits to rest...they'll finally be avenged.”

“They'll go down,” Claude agreed cautiously, “just promise us you won't...okay?”

Dimitri closed his eyes for a moment. For a long, terrifying second, he said nothing. Byleth felt her throat tighten painfully; she watched him anxiously when he finally returned her gaze, a somewhat calmer look in his eyes. “I won't.” He said.

He'd never broken a promise to her before. _So why didn't those words comfort her? _

“How is everyone?” Claude asked her, deciding a momentary change of subject was in order. “I've been stuck in here writing a very important letter...it's finally finished and sent off, but how's the monastery's mood?”

“We haven't panicked yet,” Byleth said ruefully. “Did that letter include an alliance proposal?”

Claude bit his lip. “I think it's too premature to sell it; not when we don't know everything the Empire plans to do. ...I hope I'm not waited too long by putting it off.” He looked grim.

“No, I'm pretty sure that's the right call. The Alliance would be suspicious of an offer from the Kingdom unless they knew without a doubt that they were in danger of invasion,” Dimitri offered; he sounded a hair more calm, at least. Byleth wasn't sure he was entirely with them – he was still in danger of 'disappearing inside himself', as Bernadetta put it... “There has been some history of bitterness in the north about the succession, after all.”

“That's right...and Alliance lords can be fickle...”

“And self-serving, don't forget that,” Claude pointed out; he smiled dryly at the odd look she gave him. “I'm well aware that anything I offer Lord Gloucester in particular is going to be a hard sell. His lands are on the other side of the Great Bridge, meaning any invasion into the Alliance would hit him first and he does _not _like me. At least I know I can count on him sending men to help protect the monastery, because Lorenz is here.”

“Do you think reinforcements from the Kingdom and Alliance would arrive in time?” Dimitri asked remotely. “The messages have to arrive, and then they have to march...and they can't leave the homeland unprotected.”

He didn't look particularly concerned by the thought.

“They'll make it,” Claude said with confidence...though Byleth wasn't sure he fully believed it.

She reached out and clasped his hand. A premonition was hanging over her...that this was a step off of a cliff; a plunge into dark water for all of Fodlan. Whatever happened next would decide what happened to this land for many years to come...

“Sothis remembered something, when we were on the throne,” She said suddenly. In all the chaos, she hadn't had time to bring it up. Claude's eyes snapped open and he regarded her with barely contained curiosity and eagerness. “It makes defeating the Agarthans more important than anything...”

“More important than Edelgard?” Dimitri asked harshly.

Byleth gave him a solemn look and gave control over her body over to Sothis; it would have the most weight coming from her.

The goddess shimmered into existence, and fixed them with a solemn look. “_Whatever Edelgard plots to inflict upon the land, I doubt she intends to destroy it,_” She said. “_But Agartha...Agartha has already destroyed the world once. I'm not sure that in this state, I could restore it from that desolation a second time.” _

Seeing the blood drain from Claude and Dimitri's face gave Byleth the remote relief that at least she wasn't alone with this existential terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My excuse for Sothis sticking around after merging her heart into Byleth is that she didn't have to exude extra power to protect Byleth's mind and soul from the effects of Solon's spell at the same time. In exchange, she hasn't remembered everything about herself and what happened before she sort of died - just one or two things. Albiet a rather important thing.
> 
> Dimitri, unfortunately, didn't have anyone to really go nuts on...so that's going to have to wait until the invasion. Then my poor prince is going to have an extensive army to vent his pent up issues on. Yay? (laughs nervously) Letting out all your pent up anger is a kind of therapy, right? ...It's the closest Fodlan's got, this and love is gonna have to be enough. (nervous smile.)


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri deals with turbulent emotions after the arrival of Edelgard's manifesto, while waiting for the Empire to make their move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some more fluff before things officially go off the rails. 
> 
> (mock conductor voice) Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to leave Canon Station. At this time all luggage must be stowed in the overhead compartments and any smaller baggage removed from the aisle. Remember there will be no stops before we reach our destination.

“_The leaders of the church have misused its creed to fulfill their true desire – to rule the world. They have fooled the people of Fodlan. _

_Long ago, they divided the Empire to make a Kingdom, and then...divided that Kingdom to create an Alliance. They did all of this to make the masses bicker among themselves. They created instability to reinforce their own authority._

_Those corrupt hypocrites cannot lead Fodlan to true peace. Their foul belief system must be torn asunder so that true wisdom may finally prevail!_

“_So I have decided by order of the Adrestian Emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg, the Empire hearby declares war on the Church of Serios and their allies!”_

“What a _complete _**_farce!_**”

Atra spat the words out like they were poison in her mouth, glaring at the multi-page manifesto on the table with such ferocity it was amazing half the room didn't spontaneously catch fire. “She has the gall to speak of wisdom when she's funding Agartha out of her own coffers?!” The black-haired girl raged. “As if she isn't a corrupt hypocrite herself for giving those remorseless murderers her protection in order to violently conquer Fodlan with this as a pretext!”

“Hey, deep breaths, Atra.” Hilda cautioned, grabbing the girl's hand. “There's no point in loosing your head in here; there's no one to take it out on.”

“Yeah. Take it easy, mourning dove.” Hapi said seriously. The red-haired girl kicked her feet in the air where she was sitting on the table. “You're going to wear a tunnel straight through the floor at the rate you're pacing.”

Atra blew out a long breath and raked a hand through her hair. Hilda tugged her toward a chair next to Glenn and Ingrid, the former scowling darkly while the latter was visibly pale and worried.

“She isn't wrong,” Lysithea said bitterly. “We're waiting for the opening of a continent-wide war that is nothing but a complete waste of lives and resources that will do nothing but make our real, _mutual _enemy more powerful. What the hell is she thinking?”

“She thinks she's going to save everyone,” Dorothea said weakly, leaning on Sylvain's shoulder. The playboy looked unusually awkward, patting her on the shoulder and partially hiding her when all the eyes in the room fell on her. “That's what she said when she was talking to us in the classroom. She wants to get rid of the nobles, devalue crests, make it possible for everyone to live a good life.”

“_By empowering Thales?!_” Atra nearly shrieked; Hilda grabbing her shoulder allowing her to catch herself at the last moment. “Is she completely mad?!”

“I heard her talking to Caspar once, about his being removed from inheritance from lacking a crest,” Linhardt murmured lowly. He glanced to his right, as if hoping to see his close friend walk through the front door and tell him that this was all some magnificent misunderstanding. “He bawled her out for assuming how he felt about the matter, and said 'you're problem is that you think that everything is about you'.” He bit his lip. “I wonder if Edelgard thinks that she's the only person who can make Fodlan...better.”

Sylvain looked away at the mention of the crestless lacking inheritance; Ingrid bit her lip and looked down at her hands, clearly imagining the Crest that a greedy merchant had been willing to kidnap her over. Mercedes simply closed her eyes while Marianne pressed a hand against her chest – like she was listening for a beast growling inside her chest.

“By involving Thales and Agartha,” Atra repeated for the third time, loathing and scorn mixing in her voice. “Profiting off every evil he inflicts on her own people.” She clearly believed that this choice the Emperor had made invalidated any reason she might have had for it.

Dimitri didn't look up from his hands. Frankly, Atra was speaking for him for the most part; and he was fairly certain that if he let his attention slip away from Bernadetta's fingers pressing against his, he would 'vanish inside himself' again...and possibly be unable to emerge. He could feel another scream sitting in his throat, waiting to be unleashed – fury and grief and hatred, the voices of the dead who had been sacrificed in the name of 'salvation' while he had survived.

He could feel Claude's worried eyes on him...and Marianne's gentle sympathy, too. Knowing they were there, feeling Bernadetta's presence close to him, drowned out some of the noise in his ears and helped him ignore the ghosts crowding around him, screaming for his attention.

_Traitor! Kinslayer! This cannot be forgiven!_

_Avenge us! Destroy that vile woman and her dreams of conquest!_

_Pay our suffering back to her in kind!_

_You must!_

_Now!_

_Never forgiven...no, she cannot be forgiven! _

_Unforgivable!_

“I don't understand that,” Annette said in sweet, helpless bewilderment. Dimitri felt Bernadetta's hand tighten over his fingers and did his best to focus on his friend's soft voice and words. “I mean, how did she even find out about them, much less approach them for an alliance? And why would Thales have agreed to it?”

“Why?” Glenn snorted in contempt. “If the three kingdoms slaughter each other, that makes his eventual goal much easier to achieve, doesn't it? The Emperor clearly believes that she has control over their alliance – probably that once she has control of Fodlan, she can dispose of them once she no longer has need of them. She certainly has a high opinion of her own cleverness.”

_**She has to die! **_His father screamed in his ear. Dimitri winced, and glanced over at Bernadetta. She was shivering, fear for the future plain in her eyes, but when she saw him...she smiled at him and squeezed his hand. _You're home. Don't disappear. Don't go where we can't reach you..._

“...Maybe it has something to do with the Insurrection of the Seven?” Mercedes offered uncertainly. “That was a time of great confusion and upheaval in the Empire. If anything strange could have happened behind the scenes involving Agartha, it would have happened them.”

“It's possible,” Atra said with an aggressive shrug. “But does it matter at this point?”

No one had an answer to that.

Felix snorted. “Bernadetta got the right of Edelgard in the tomb. There's no point in debating what she thinks she's doing by starting this war. Now there's nothing to do but strategize.”

“...I think Felix is right,” Byleth said, dropping the manifesto she had been rereading yet again, as if searching for some sort of catch between the lines.

“You were right about the Empire's plans, Claude. So...what do you think of our chances of holding out against the might of her army until our friends and family come to bail us out?” Yuri asked with a dry grimness. He was leaning against a pillar in the Golden Deer classroom, expression dark as thunder as Byleth read the manifesto out loud to the combined classes.

“It's hard to tell,” Claude admitted, crossing his arms. His serious eyes flicked up to the ceiling in contemplation. “The Empire's marching fast. If our families push it, we might only have to hold out for a day. If we're unlucky?” He shrugged helplessly. “There are too many unknowns.”

“The Empire has the largest standing army in Fodlan, due to its size.” Marianne noted quietly. “And that doesn't account for whatever horrors Thales provides Edelgard with in the name of razing Garreg Mach. To destroy the monastery would be to inflict a terrible blow against the hearts and minds of all those who worship Sothis...”

What went unsaid was that it would also affect Rhea's influence over Fodlan – to an extent, anyway. Those who loved the archbishop and saw her as Sothis's voice in the mortal realm wouldn't cease spitting on Edelgard until their throats were cut...which was a lot of people, since the vast majority of those who lived in Fodlan were of the faithful. Edelgard seemed confident that she could counteract that, however...

“Are you worried that reinforcements from the Kingdom and Alliance won't be enough to push back the Empire?” Ashe asked her in concern.

“It depends on how many families send forces, and how many make it in time,” Yuri pointed out with a hint of warning. “I trust and expect the Kingdom to make it, but the Alliance...I wouldn't be surprised if there were conflicting opinions on going to war.”

“Going to war is going to be a hard sell,” Claude agreed with a shrug. “However, sending men at arms to save the lives of their heirs? Count on it. Lorenz, Lysithea, Marianne, and Hilda being here ensures that at least five of the great families are going to send help. It's either that, or face the death or capture of family.”

“That's good to know, at least,” Hapi muttered. “A handful of the people in Abyss can fight, but mostly we have families and children and people too old or sick to hold a sword, much less swing it. War is only going to hurt them more.”

“The monastery has many defenses we aren't considering,” Byleth spoke up, a thoughtful look on her face. “Do you remember those enchanted golems that attacked us in the valley, Claude?” Those who had searched for the chalice all perked up at the question. “Lady Rhea says that there are many we can 'activate' to fight at our side.”

“Hah!” Balthus laughed, clapping his hands together. “So someone _else _will be having nightmares about those fucking dolls? That's vindication, that's what that is.”

That earned a wave of tired chuckles from the others, and the heavy atmosphere in the room softened a bit. Dimitri looked up from his hands, flickering white figures at the corners of both his eyes. Byleth was looking at him through her transfigured eyes, tired yet still warm when they settled on him. He wanted to smile, but couldn't.

“Lady Rhea and Seteth are still discussing optimal defensive plans with the Knights,” Byleth said, giving her head a slight shake. “According to Shamir...we have two weeks before the Empire's army arrives.” The room rumbled uneasily.

“Professor?” Bernadetta piped up then, tilting her head. “Um, can I ask you something?”

“Absolutely.”

“What happened when you sat on the throne? You – you kind of look like Sothis now. Did...did she bless you again?”

Dorothea – and everyone else who'd been left in the dark about the goddess's whereabouts – all gaped at the purple-haired girl, causing her to shrink into Dimitri's side. He patted her arm absently, forcing himself to focus on Byleth.

_It's finally time we'll finally be free it will all be put to rest-_

“It's...a little hard to explain...” Byleth raised a hand and placed it on her chest. “When I sat on the throne, I could feel an echo of...something I can only describe as Sothis's previous mortal life. Once we were there, Sothis was able to recall something from before she lost her memories.” She started to say something – likely to tell them what she had told him – before frowning and cutting herself off. Likely, she – quite reasonably – decided it would be bad for their current morale. “Agartha, more than anything, wants to wipe out any trace of Sothis's presence on the earth. I'll explain in detail at a less frantic moment. What we discovered after she regained that memory was that...somehow, her heart was inside of me.”

“Her...heart?” Linhardt repeated slowly. He walked over to her and put a hand on her chest, seemingly oblivious to Dorothea's chastisement and the various glowers this earned him. Dimitri nearly launched himself at the green-haired priest; Claude glared at the back of his head. “How is that possible?”

Byleth gave him a bemused look and pointedly grasped his wrist, pulling it aside. “I don't know. I must have received it when I was a child...Sothis thinks it may be the reason I had no emotions growing up. They were all repressed due to how weakened her heart was...” Linhardt mumbled an apology; she ruffled his hair fondly before dropping her hand to the Sword of the Creator and drawing it.

The glowing light in the hilt hadn't dimmed much since the conflict; it didn't quite hurt to look at, but it was bright and felt warm, even from several feet away where Dimitri was sitting. His ghosts hovered in a circle around him, many of their heads bowed in reverence.

“Sothis gave her heart to me; now it does more than sustain me, it's fully merged into my body. That means I have access to far, far more of her magic...along with the true power of the Sword of the Creator.” She pointed the blade up toward the ceiling, a little crooked smile on her face. “Those new demonic beasts are nothing to me...and my capacity to use Divine Pulse without keeling over has dramatically increased as well. I'm still human – or at least, I'm still mortal – but I've been Enlightened.” She smiled faintly. “I know a lot more magic now, as well. It just...popped into my head when I woke up.”

“Is Sothis still with you?” Marianne asked. Dorothea made a noise somewhere between confusion, disbelief and pure shock; Byleth smiled apologetically at her.

“Yes, she is.” Her lip quirked and she raised a hand as if to wave. Dimitri could just see Sothis's playful smirk in her eyes. “She says hello and not to worry. We'll protect you.”

“Does this make you the new King of Liberation?” Claude asked; his tone was playful and jesting, but there was an undercurrent of thought to his words. “The timing is quite something, if it's true.”

Byleth didn't look jubilant at the thought...but it made Dimitri smile. “It fits you,” He told her quietly.

She returned the gesture hesitantly.

* * *

“There you are.”

Marianne's voice drew Dimitri out of his brooding. He looked away from the fields spread out beyond the walls of the monastery; he had been standing on the highest floor of Garreg Mach, watching the horizon as the sun set. In the days since the attack on the Holy Tomb, he'd been restless and agitated, spending more time in a drugged sleep then he did awake. Manuela had warned him not to overdose and strictly monitored his intake; likely for the best, as this was the closest he'd gotten to a comfort from his nightmares and pains. He wasn't sure he trusted himself to be careful enough to remember that medicine in one dose was poison in another.

“Marianne,” He acknowledged, watching her step up to the wall next to him. “Can I help you?”

“I came to ask you that,” she responded without judgment. “You've avoided Claude and the Professor for a few days...that's very unlike you.”

“Ah.” Dimitri sighed. “It's true. ...I'm afraid I made them a promise that I can't keep.”

“Because of what happened in the Holy Tomb?”

Part of him wanted to snap at her, but his tongue stilled when he saw the look in her eyes. She, of all people, knew what it was like to become a monster.

He bit his lip and sighed. “Yes.” Turning out toward the setting sun, he mused at how that, for a brief time, it looked like the sky was bleeding. “Ever since that day at Duscur, I've discarded my humanity whenever I stepped onto the battlefield. My vision fills with a red haze...sometimes I feel as if my spirit disconnects from my body, allowing me to watch myself as though I were a stranger as I crush all opponents who come across me.” He looked forlornly at his hands. “It's...”

“Monstrous?” Marianne guessed. She put a hand on his wrist, looking out at the sky with him. “I understand...but Dimitri – isn't everything that happens on a battlefield monstrous one way or another?”

Dimitri started to respond, but stopped. Even in the relative quiet he was enjoying, he couldn't find a response to the question.

“You're a very empathetic person, Dimitri. I think that's why this other side of you came into existence...you tend to take other people's pain as your own.” Marianne gave him a look. “Don't carry my grief as well as your own, your highness. That's too much a burden for anyone.”

“If I don't, who will?”

“...Everyone,” She said quietly. “The professor said to me that sharing our burdens is the only way we can live when troubled times pass us by.”

Dimitri nodded hesitantly. After a moment of comfortable silence, he quietly asked her, “Will you be alright? To go to war, with the trouble your crest gives you...”

Marianne closed her eyes for a moment. “I am worried...but I have faith; in everyone, and in Sothis. They won't let me end up like Maurice.”

That could mean one of two things; Dimitri chose not to ask her which she meant. He would simply look out for her when the time came...like she was doing for him now. “Thank you, Marianne.”

“You're welcome.”

They remained there, watching the sun set, for a few minutes afterwards until a familiar voice called out to the blue-haired girl. Blinking, Dimitri glanced over his shoulder to see Ashe trotting down the road toward them. The prince felt himself smile, waving at his fellow classmate and took a step backward. “I'll see you tomorrow,” He excused himself politely; Marianne blinked and started to nod before she noticed Ashe. Then she started a bit, and brightened at the sight of him.

Grinning, Dimitri walked off and disappeared around a corner. A sudden streak of rather Claude-esque mischievousness (_it was his fault, obviously_) he leaned against the wall and listened in.

“Marianne, I found you. I...” Stones scraped against the ground from Ashe shuffling his feet. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Thank you. ...I'm glad to see you're still smiling, Ashe.”

“Oh, right – honestly, I probably wouldn't be if it weren't for Claude.” Marianne made a questioning noise; there was a note of fondness in Ashe's voice as he explained, “I asked him how he could smile even when he's going into battle, and what he told me – it's about supporting your friends and convincing them everything will be okay.” He chuckled. “I've been practicing for a while...and I think it actually makes me feel a little braver, too.”

“I know what you mean. Claude is...sort of like the wind. He keeps us up in the air, no matter what happens.” There was a lightness in her voice as she asked, “Does he know you consider him a good friend? You might have to tell him to his face; he doesn't really assume very much.”

“I'll have to remember that.” There was a pause. Dimitri was a little embarrassed by his eavesdropping, and might have left if Ashe hadn't spoken up again. “Hey, Marianne...”

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to – um, I mean, hang on.” He mumbled something the prince couldn't hear before clearing his throat. “I just...wanted to get something off my chest before – before what happens, happens.”

“Ashe?”

“You're very important to me!” Ashe blurted out. “A-And I hope that, when there's peace again, t-that you'd be willing to come and visit the Gaspard dukedom with me. If – if you would like that.”

Dimitri buried his face in his hands to smother either a laugh, a sympathetic wince, or a knowing noise that he _also _would have blamed entirely on Claude and his corrupting influence. He could imagine how stunned the self-deprecating Marianne was right now; Ashe, meanwhile, wasn't sure what to make of her reaction.

“I-I really like you. You're very kind, and wise, and I feel like I'm learning more about the world every time you talk to me. You've had to-to deal with something really terrible hanging over your head for a long time, but you've never used that as an excuse to be anything less than an amazing person, and that's really amazing – I admire you more than ever now, really. I – I've seen how you take care of the horses, and the cats, and that endless kindness you have for everyone is really amazing and something I wish I could match – I mean, you don't have to do anything! You don't have to promise anything, I just – I hope – a-ah-”

Ashe's frantic babbling broke off in a squeak, and a moment of silence. Dimitri didn't dare peek around the corner lest he give himself away, but he did press himself against the stone in anticipation.

“Ashe,” Marianne murmured after a moment, her voice tender and shaky. “I've decided something.”

“Y-You have?”

“Yes. I'm going to live."

“Huh?”

“No matter what the Empire or Agartha throw at me in days to come, or how my Crest might try to change me, I'm going to live. Then we'll go to Faerghus together.”

“R-Really? ...Ah...” There was a shuffle, and Dimitri suspected Marianne had just hugged the silver-haired archer. “Y-Yes. L-living is good. L-Living...is amazing. Thank you, M-Marianne...”

At this point, Dimitri's manners finally reasserted themselves; he scrambled down the walkway and back into the monastery, nearly slamming the door shut behind him before managing to catch himself. He was smiling widely now, and possibly blushing. _Goodness, have I switched heads with Hilda? Byleth will be delighted to know about this...but it's none of my business to tell her, she'll have to hear about it through Marianne or Ashe, or both. _

_...Living is good, huh...? _Dimitri closed his eyes, slowing and coming to a stop. It was like getting hit by lightning; he felt like the biggest fool alive, and he shook his head in self-recrimination. _Goddess, I owe them an apology. I am the most foolish prince who ever lived. _

His sense of purpose renewed, Dimitri headed off in the direction of the stairs. The halls were distractingly empty; the clerics and staff who were always around with a friendly word and a smile were nowhere to be seen, either planning evacuation routes or collecting weapons for repairs at the blacksmith. It was eerie, how quiet this made the ancient monastery; it felt intrinsically wrong. This was the heart of Fodlan, a place of happiness.

Now it was a fortress preparing for a siege.

_And here I was, planning to wallow in self-hatred and doubt in those days leading up to a battle that could well be my last. Thank heavens for you, Ashe. _

He found the stairwell fairly quickly, and was about halfway down before he registered some loud voices caught up in an argument.

“-not a little girl anymore, Baltie! I'm not going to go hide in the tunnels while Teach and everyone else fight for their lives!” Hilda's protest snapped him out of his tunnel vision; Dimitri stalled by an arrow slit, standing awkwardly in place when he realized that his only way down was blocked off. He could see the pink head below shiver, likely as a result of the girl stomping her feet.

“I wasn't saying anything like that!” Balthus protested. “I just want to know you're going to get out of this fight, so at least promise me you'll retreat if things get hairy?”

“That's not fair! You know I can't do that; if someone needs my help, I have to go back for them.” Hilda thrust her hands out to the side. “And I also know that you won't retreat without a direct order from the Professor! I remember that time with the demonic beast way back when, even if you don't.”

“Of course I remember...” Balthus huffed out a sigh. “Geez; since when did the lazy girl want that much responsibility?”

“Since she found a lot of people she needed to protect. Don't expect this sort of attitude towards everything,” Hilda sniffed.

“Look, Hilda...I know how tough you are. I just – just gotta know you're going to get to the other side of this, right?” He laughed. “This is what you do to me; turning the king of grappling into a worried, nervous mess with the strength to punch through a demonic beast and the eye to make sure I don't miss. I can't let anything bad happen to you.”

“Because Holst would kill you?” It sounded like Hilda was trying to tease him, but her breath hitched a bit and her head turned, like she was looking away.

“No, because _I _wouldn't forgive me.” Balthus corrected in all seriousness. That made Hilda start, if Dimitri read her reaction right. The older man reached out and patted her on the top of her head. “I'm gonna have your back every step of the way, so you watch mine, alright?”

“Hehe...alright. That I can promise.” Hilda then took a few steps forward; likely to get a hug, which she was promptly granted. Dimitri leaned against the rail, staring at the ceiling and rather hoping they would walk past without noticing him. _Gah, not even on purpose this time..._

“So...you were looking for the prince, right?” Balthus said after a minute.

“Oh yeah! He's been hiding out somewhere...he's probably overwhelmed; he really liked Edelgard, you know? I mean, I think he at least considered her a friend; he was always sweet and friendly with her, even when she was sniping at him.”

“You think he liked her that way?”

“Despite all of Claude's initial teasing, no. I never really got that sense. But I do think he's hurting, and he's hiding because he thinks he has to be the Perfect Prince after freaking out in the tomb.” He heard Hilda knock her fists together. “So I'm going to find him and shake him until he remembers that he's a human who's allowed to screw up.”

_She's been...worried for...? ...Ah, I truly am a fool. Ingrid is a saint for putting up with me along with Sylvain and Felix. _Dimitri made his way down the rest of the stairs and remarked, “I would think that most people would not encourage royalty to make mistakes.”

Hilda and Balthus started, and jumped about a foot away from each other when they both turned to face him. “Oh _there _you are!” The pinkette exclaimed, always quick to recover. “I've been looking all over for you.”

She promptly made good on her threat by seizing him and dragging him down the hallway; Dimitri did his best not to glower at Balthus, who was trailing along behind and smirking the whole time. “Mistakes are inevitable. Trying to be perfect is overrated, Dimitri; so I've made the executive decision that you need to relax and smile for a bit.”

“Do I get any say in this?” He asked half-jokingly; he was pretty sure he would have been nailed to the wall by the resulting indigent look she gave him.

“Since you clearly don't know how to take care of yourself, no!” She retorted. “Come on. We're going to find Claude. Sylvain is distracted trying to get Dorothea in a better mood by having her sing opera songs at him – who knew, he could be sensitive when he wants to, he didn't flirt with her or anything – so that leaves my best friend.”

Dimitri's stomach did a little backflip, and he smiled ruefully. _Might as well face it head on. _“I appreciate your concern,” He responded honestly.

Hilda looked pleased and continued to yank him along. He would have to put all his enhanced strength into any escape attempts; frankly, that wasn't worth it. Especially since she had Balthus to act as backup if he displeased her.

They made their way down to the first floor, walking past Ignatz and Flayn who were deep in conversation. The former was holding the latter's hand in a clear gesture of comfort and support; as they were walking by, Flayn bounced on her heels and threw her arms around his neck, causing him to blush redder than a tomato. Hilda cheered him on, causing _both _of them to jump and blush frantically, while she sauntered past without shame. Dimitri could only mouth out apologies as he was dragged past.

Finding himself pulled through the front hall and out toward the fishing dock – a frequent meet-up place of theirs. Dimitri turned the corner and found himself looking out at the dock where Claude was sitting, watching the sun go down. “Hello there!” Hilda called as she pulled him onward relentlessly, blithely ignoring his knee-jerk attempt to dig his heels in, once they were close enough to see each other.

Claude's head snapped up at her voice. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Dimitri thought his prince's eyes lit up at the sight of him before he lazily stood up. “Hey there, Hilda. Is there a dramatic need for this kidnapping?” He asked cheerily.

“Yup!” Hilda popped the 'p' with a smirk before all but shoving Dimitri at him. The prince nearly tripped over his own feet before stumbling to a halt; he straightened and gave her an indigent look she was completely immune to. “He's sad, you make him smile. Try to cheer him up before he drives himself even more crazy, okay?” She waved. “I know you can do it!”

And then she just left.

“She's like a hurricane,” Dimitri said in bemusement, once he caught his breath.

“I'd say she's more of a strong breeze,” Claude disputed, gazing intensely at him. “Hurricanes are consistently intense.”

“True.” Dimitri said hesitantly. He glanced over Claude's shoulder, then winced, chiding himself. _Fool. Do you want to live? _He licked his lips and forced himself to raise his head, look into those emerald green eyes. “Claude, I...”

He wasn't given a chance to finish. Claude lunged forward and embraced him tightly, pressing his forehead into his shoulder. Dimitri gasped and stumbled back a step, feeling the brunette's heart racing against his chest, wrapping his arms around the small of his back. “Claude,” He whispered, drinking in his forest-greenery scent.

“I am not afraid of you,” Claude said in his ears. “Do you hear me, Mitya? I am not afraid of you.”

“...I...” A hard lump formed in the prince's throat.

“I'm afraid _for _you. Do you understand?” The hidden prince let out a shuddering breath, his grip slowly tightening.

“Yes. I'm sorry, I-”

“_I can't loose you_!” The worst burst out Claude's throat, nearly a shout that caused Dimitri to jerk backwards in shock.

But what was even worse – what felt like a knife cutting into his heart – was Claude looking at him and seeing tears at the corners of his eyes. “I can't loose you,” He repeated desperately, a tear sliding down his cheek. “You can't dangle a-all of this in front of me – love, real love, happiness, a whole life together – and then rip it away. I thought I'd never have it, th-thought I would have to live without it, and then I met you and By and I – I love you, I need you in my life...” Claude choked and swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. It was like trying to suppress his emotions was causing him physical agony. “I can't loose you, Mitya, I'd rather die...”

Dimitri tried to respond, but the lump in his throat obstructed him. His own eyes grew blurry when Claude hit his forehead against his chest, pressing against him as if trying to hide in his arms. “Please don't leave me...” The brunette begged quietly.

Forcibly clearing his throat, Dimitri tangled his fingers in those soft brown curls, tugging Claude's head up and kissing him hard on the lips. Once again, his ghosts all fled like mist dissolving under the sun; his head was clear and love and warmth rushed up through his chest.

“You won't loose me, Khalid.” He promised when they parted after a moment, breathless. Saying his other name still felt priceless, wonderful. “I'm sorry you're in love with such a difficult fool as I. I was so ashamed of my failings I tried to hide rather than reassure you and Byleth...I promised you that I would live. I mean to keep that.”

Claude let out a shaky breath. He was trembling, Dimitri realized with a bolt of distress. Knowing how capable Khalid was in putting on a mask, how badly shaken was he to be displaying this much raw emotion out on the dock, away from 'safety'?

“I love you, Khalid,” He whispered again for emphasis, brushing his prince's tears away before pulling him into another kiss.

It took Claude lightly pawing at his shoulders for him to remember that technically, they were still out in the open. While the outside was practically empty, anyone could walk by at any moment.

And yet in a flash, Dimitri realized he didn't care. Open continental war was all but on their doorstep, a group of maniacs who had once _destroyed the world _were lingering in the shadows, waiting for their chance to strike. What was the point of fighting if it wasn't for that which you loved?

Instead he pulled Claude closer, tipping his head back so when he released his lips he could kiss his jaw, then begin to trail kisses down his neck. Claude let out a little mewl, an incredibly vulnerable sound coming from him, before gasping out, “Not out here. By's waiting.”

Dimitri pressed a final kiss against his collar before pulling back and nodding. Claude finally released him, brushing at his eyes and giving him that beautiful, honest little smile that tied him into knots. “Show me the way.” He asked simply.

Claude clasped his hand and started to lead him up a familiar passageway toward Byleth's dorm room.

* * *

“You look worried, Atra.”

Dimitri tried to tune out Yuri's conversation with the renegade Agarthan, since it was none of his buisness. They really should be helping the Knights prepare the siege defenses spread out in front of them, but there wasn't much room for them too help with the Golems being moved into position, so they were standing back and waiting.

“With that damned Emperor dancing of Thales's strings, bringing his newest projects to the battlefield? Whatever could I be worried about?”

“You're going to drive yourself insane.” Yuri said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don't. They will do what they will do. Just try to put it from your mind as much as possible.” His lip quirked. “They can't afford to destroy the world if they want to live in it, after all.”

Atra sighed heavily. “You never stopped trying to take care of me. I always wondered...why? Why made you decide to take me in and...and care about me?”

For a long moment, Yuri didn't say anything. Then, after a few seconds of thought, he said “...Honestly? It was because of your eyes.”

“My...eyes? I don't understand.”

“When I looked at you when I found you in the tunnel...I saw a girl who never gave up. When you told me what you were trying to do, I knew you were someone who would stop at nothing to set wrongs right. In all my life, I've maybe met a handful of people who have that kind of spirit...that kind of will power. I guess I just wanted to keep you close to me...” Dimitri knew without looking that Yuri was flashing her one of his mind-meltingly attractive smiles. “...so maybe your courage would rub off on me.”

“...I...don't know what to say,” Atra stammered, embarrassment and shock in her voice.

“You don't have to say anything.” Yuri looked out to the horizon again. “Just stick with me for what comes in the next few days.”

A few days. That was all the time they had before Edelgard arrived.

_Destroy her, _his father hissed in his ear. _Make her pay for all that she has done. _

Dimitri inclined his head. _We will hold the line, _he thought. _Just like Pan did, so many years ago when he secured Long's victory and the creation of Faerghus. We will hold the line until the cavalry arrives._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, since a lot of people have been clamoring for a chance to pick her brain, I've officially decided that once the war phase begins, Edelgard will be having short interlude POV chapters throughout. I was a bit leery of this, since my concern was that my intense dislike of her would result in sub-par chapters, but I think I can manage it with you guys here to give me ideas.
> 
> Next up...the Helms Deep of Fire Emblem. It's, It's basically going to be the Helms Deep of Fire Emblem. Yes I am a gigantic Tolkien nerd, why?


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude slides into the role of a warrior prince as what would eventually be called the Battle for Garreg Mach begins.

Claude woke up slowly to the first light of morning. Breaking the quiet was the distant sound of clanking metal. For a second, his chest tightened painfully; thankfully, after a few moments a church horn blew, and he allowed himself to relax when it wasn't followed by all the bells ringing. _Some of the knights managed to return in time, probably. _

Unfortunately, the shot of adrenaline noticing the sounds had given him meant going back to sleep was unlikely – at least for a while. Sighing, he carefully propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at the bed next to him.

Byleth was curled up against Dimitri's side, her light green hair splayed across the pillow almost glittering in the first light of dawn. Her chest rose and fell softly in her sleep; the blankets had slipped down her bare shoulders at some point in the night. He reached over and tugged them up a bit, smiling when she shifted, murmuring in her sleep. Then his eyes slipped over to his prince, and he felt that smile fade.

Dimitri was shivering despite the warmth of the room; his fingers were digging into his palms, and his lips were moving without any sound except for a small whimper. Claude was fairly adept at reading lips, and he only had to tilt Dimitri's head a little to realize the word he kept saying was '_father_'.

_He's having another nightmare about that day...yeah, no; this stops now. _

“Mitya,” He whispered, placing his hand on his shoulder and giving him a firm shake. _He's sweating. It must be intense..._ “Mitya, wake up.”

Dimitri shuddered; after another firm shake his eyes fluttered open, blurry and unfocused, bouncing frantically around the room. Claude pinned him to the bed to keep him from jerking up, waking Byleth and possibly the rest of the hall in the bargain; with his free hand he gently cupped the blonde's face in his hand. “Mitya, it's me. You're not in that place. Wake up...come back to me.”

Those ocean-blue eyes flickered up to him and focused after a few blinks; tears flickered at the corners of his eyes. “Claude,” He rasped; his voice was tiny and fragile. Claude leaned down and gently kissed his forehead, then his lips. “I...”

“Don't even start,” Claude murmured, lowering himself back onto the bed. The sheets were cool against his bare skin, which was a little surprising – maybe it was because they'd left the window slightly open. “You can't help having nightmares. Especially when you've been reminded of _that night _recently.”

Dimitri didn't answer, biting his lip. Byleth, sensing a shift, rolled over and nuzzled closer to him with a sigh. That seemed to melt a little of the sadness in his expression; he reached up and stroked Claude's face, winding a strand of hair between his fingers. Claude hummed softly in response, recalling an old tune his mother used to put him to sleep with. Slowly Dimitri relaxed, the energy dying away as he ran his hands through his prince's hair.

“I'm so afraid...”

“Of what?” Claude asked, forcing down how startled the admission made him feel. Not necessarily that Dimitri was worried, but that he was admitting it. Usually the blonde stubbornly insisted to the bitter end that he, Byleth and the others _not _worry about him, that he was alright, that he'd manage despite whatever was bothering him.

“The Agarthans stole so many of my loved ones from me.” Dimitri whispered, the tips of his fingers tracing Claude's cheek. “I remember saying to Byleth after she collapsed in the tunnels that I would rather die than watch another person be killed protecting me. I don't think I articulated myself quite right...” He closed his eyes in pain. “I can't survive loosing you or her. Maybe I would live afterwards...but all that would be left behind is an empty shell, waiting to die.”

Claude felt an increasingly familiar lance of pain pierce his chest. “Don't say that,” He whispered, an edge of pleading in his voice. “Please.”

_I could live in a world without you, _he thought distantly.

_But I don't **want **to. Goddess above, I don't want to. _

“I'm sorry.”

“Live for yourself, too...” Byleth's voice joined their hushed conversation. Dimitri tilted his head and Claude looked up to see their green-haired goddess propped up on her elbow, looking down at him with love and concern. She leaned over and kissed the side of his head, murmuring in his ear. “Live for yourself and what you believe in. You have a kind and righteous heart, Dimitri, no matter what darkness clings to you. If you live for that heart, you won't loose your way.”

“You can still say that...?” Dimitri asked – almost timidly.

She smiled lovingly in return. “I have complete faith in you.”

Dimitri managed a tiny smile in turn at that. He shivered when Claude kissed his shoulder, letting his hand slide down from the edge of his jaw, along the curve of neck and down his back. “He had that dream again...” He said by way of explanation.

Byleth let out a little gasp of understanding, while Dimitri ducked his head and gave Claude a disapproving look. The brunette merely set his face in response; he only softened into a grin when Byleth turned Dimitri over and pinned him down by his shoulders, green-golden eyes serious as the dead of winter.

“Listen to me, Mitya. _This is not Duscur_. I am stronger...so much stronger than I was before, I can do things no other human can even besides Divine Pulse. I swear to you, on my bond with Sothis, we are going to do more than get through this – we're going to _live, _and we're going to _win_.”

Claude felt a shiver go down his spine – this time tinged with a strange excitement, a thrill that seeing Byleth serious always gave him. Dimitri must have felt it too, because he nodded instead of responding or falling silent.

Byleth then glanced toward Claude, almost as if she could sense his lingering distress, and leaned over their golden prince to give him a kiss. It was a gesture of love and a promise and everything he needed-

-when the church's main bell rang. They hushed and looked at each other in alarm. It rang twice, three times...and then stopped after a fourth.

Not the invasion. Not yet.

...But it was coming soon.

“We better get dressed,” Claude noted somewhat pointlessly.

* * *

They got down to the main hall and found that they weren't alone. Alois was already waiting for them there, along with Yuri and all of Jeralt's Mercenaries. The bell rang again after about ten minutes, summoning the rest of the students who hadn't been woken by the first ring. Everyone, Claude noted humorlessly, was armed and alert and prepared for trouble.

...Though seeing as Bernadetta's hands were shaking, Ignatz kept cleaning his glasses, Flayn had her arms wrapped around her stomach and her eyes closed in prayer, Dorothea shivering and openly leaning against Sylvain's side...perhaps it was better to say that they were as mentally prepared as they could be.

“She'll be here today, won't she?” Claude asked, simply seeking clarification.

“Yes,” Alois answered regretfully. “The last of our reinforcements arrived, just barely having survived an ambush on the road. We have about half the forces that Lady Rhea was hoping for...” He raised his chin. “However, we have the goddess on our side! We will prevail!”

Byleth twitched a bit as all her students (friends was probably more accurate...it wasn't like the school year could continue with a war going on) turned as one to stare at her. “It's the truth,” She assured them mildly, ignoring Alois's puzzled expression at that. “Did they say anything about the army's numbers?”

“Ah, yes, of course...about that...”

“They think it's nearly the whole of the Empire's standing army,” Hannah broke in bluntly. Robb muttered something distinctly impolite in a Dagda dialect while Justine offered up a prayer to Asch on their behalf. “The Emperor really wants this building gone.”

“Can she really afford to leave her entire kingdom practically undefended?” Yuri asked, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise.

“Well, she only has to worry about that if she fails to raze Garreg Mach, doesn't she?” Hugo offered darkly. “She has good reason to be confident, kiddo. Do any of you kids have any sense of when your families will send relief?”

“If we can't survive the night, it won't matter either way,” Felix noted. Bernadetta whimpered; the blue haired knight put a hand on her shoulder – his expression was coolly intense as ever, but there was a softness to the gesture that made the purple-haired girl melt into him – and continued, “but I know my old man; if he didn't raise everyone he could reach in a day before setting out the instant he got the letter, it's because he had a heart attack upon getting it. And he's not _that _old yet.”

“Gramps was prepared for this.” Claude commented, biting his lip. “He'll have been in contact with the other lords before this emergency introduced itself. Like Felix said, we have to survive the night at least...maybe another day after that. But they'll come. They would have gotten our letters around the same time they got Edelgard's manifesto, after all.”

“You're not worried about Gloucester and Acheron?” Balthus asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Acheron isn't on the council, and no matter how much Gloucester hates _me, _Lorenz is here.” Claude jerked a thumb at his contrarian classmate. “Even if he sympathizes with the Empire, he can't afford to loose his only heir to this sacking. He won't obstruct rescue forces even if he doesn't send any himself, which I doubt.”

“Does Edelgard really not realize she's effectively unified half the continent against her?” Yuri wondered aloud.

_You're saying that like you don't think she already assumed she'd be in that position, _Claude thought, his mind going back to the various times Edelgard questioned why he was friends with Dimitri. Hindsight was a cruel mistress; now it was plainly obvious that she was disturbed by the possibility of them joining forces. Which they had.

_She's been planning this ever since she got to the monastery, _he thought darkly. _Maybe even before that, depending on when she made her little 'alliance' with Thales. All the attacks on and about the monastery that Agartha was throwing at us...she probably hoped one of them would kill me or Dimitri or both, to throw our lands into chaos. That way she could easily sweep in afterwards and 'reclaim the Empire's stolen lands' or whatever... _

A thought niggled at the back of his mind, and when he pondered it for a moment, it hit him like a punch in the stomach.

_That bandit gang...the one that caused us to meet Teach...they didn't just -happen- to stumble across the three most important heirs on the continent. They were there to kill the two of us. _A cold chill went down his spine. _She was ready to kill us right after meeting us. No hesitation, no attempts to feel out if we might be amendable to her cause. Just death. _

_Except I didn't stay and fight – I took off, and Dimitri chased after me...resulting in us meeting Byleth. _He resisted the urge to let out a very ironic, very frazzled laugh. _Who would have thought dodging previous assassination attempts would come in handy? _

“Yuri, can Abyss start evacuating?” Byleth asked. “There's a good chance the Empire will employ siege weapons, and if the floor collapses in places...”

“'Tis already underway, Professor. You're concern is most appreciated, however.” Constance said, her usual bombastic nature very subdued. “We decided it would be best to move out before the attack begins, since the monastery will likely be surrounded.”

_Did she change her mind, though? She addressed me as the Flame Emperor, said I was different, tried – most clumsily, yeah, but it was an attempt – to convince me to help her. I thought I'd thoroughly convinced her I was a lazy, underhanded fool who took nothing seriously...What made her suddenly change her mind on-_

_...Of course she did, after she saw me and Dimitri getting along. It's much easier to fight the Kingdom or the Alliance one at a time, instead of facing half the continent in a united front. But either she wasn't sure how to woo me, or was sufficiently intimidated by Teach's threat that she gave up trying to lure me away from her as a bad job. _

“Have the golems been placed? How many?” Claude asked aloud, partly to distract himself from his whirling thoughts. He'd been thinking himself into knots ever since the manifesto/ultimatum arrived, even though he knew it was relatively pointless by now.

“There are twenty-five that are fully combat ready, ten of which are leading from the front.” Alois said, shuddering. “As unnerving as they are, I'm grateful to see them today.”

“I don't suppose you still have that invincible one that almost killed the kids a few months back, do you?” Hannah asked, partially in jest.

“Eh, unfortunately I'm pretty sure it was summoned back to the valley by the magic defensive spells,” Claude sighed. Then he perked up and smiled, “Though at least we can take solace in the knowledge that there's no way Empire soldiers could sneak into the monastery through the tunnels.”

That got a dry but genuine laugh out of everyone who'd been on the hunt for the Chalice – even Hapi.

“Small mercies,” Ingrid said, looking a little green in the face at the reminder of what her prince and friends had gone through without her knowing.

“You've fought on the defensive before, right Claude?” Yuri asked, stepping over to his side. He smiled wryly at his friend (_friend, he had friends, plural, and he could loose them all today-_) and nodded. “I'm afraid my usual expertise on this matter is of limited use...I've fought street skirmishes and ambushes, but never something on this scale. This is crazy.”

“There will be demonic beasts...” Atra put in, her fingers tapping anxiously against the hilts of her swords.

“Something like this hasn't happened since Faerghus succeeded from the Empire hundreds of years ago,” Glenn put in, his expression darkening. “No one has any experience on what's about to happen.” Ingrid reached over and touched his wrist, worry in her eyes. He tilted his head and gave her a faint smile in return.

Catherine walked into the room then, Shamir at her heels. The room quieted as the wielder of Thunderbrand came to a stop next to Alois and focused her attention exclusively on Byleth. Claude remembered that Lady Rhea had named his star her successor in the church and suppressed what was either a grimace or a smile.

_If we loose Rhea in this defense, then the church's power goes to Teach..._So many possibilities flickered behind his eyelids as he considered that in a split second.

“Professor. Are you ready?” Catherine asked.

“Almost,” Byleth said, glancing at the most nervous of her friends. Yuri turned and slung an arm around Bernadetta's shoulder, making her squeak in relief – and Felix scowl fiercely at him.

“Well, hurry up. I don't need to tell you that the situation is dire.” The blonde sword-wielding heroine swept her serious gaze over all of them. “We have some support troops from the local nobles and other branches of the church, but the army we're facing is immense. No matter how you look at it, we're at a disadvantage.”

Claude shrugged. “Story of my life. I'll find a way through it...I always have.”

Catherine smirked at him in turn. “Your eternal confidence is inspiring, Riegan. You think you're capable of outsmarting Edelgard again?”

“Count on it.” Claude rolled a shoulder, glancing back at his classmates. “I'm a lot of things, but I'm not the sort of man who will just lie down and die in a place like this. And frankly, I don't think any of us are. Especially Teach.”

Byleth nodded briefly.

“She's back already?” Hilda whistled. “Talk about impatient.”

“Edelgard doesn't strike me as the type to trust anyone else to lead her troops competently,” Yuri mused. “Or maybe she's remembering how she got stomped in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion and she's still sensitive about it.”

It was trash talk, obviously; Claude knew that Edelgard wasn't going to make it easy for them. However, seeing the words lift the spirits of his scared classmates – they were doing exactly what they needed them to. He saw smiles and determined looks settling over even the most nervous among them; Constance casually cracked her knuckles in a manner he'd sooner associate with Balthus, Hapi took in a deep breath as if to sigh before expelling it slowly, Ingatz shifted his leather armor, Bernadetta stopped shaking and straightened up, the fear fading out of her eyes.

“Everyone,” Byleth started, turning around to face all of them. The mercenaries tensed up slightly, looking at her like she was a ghost. “I won't lie to you. This is going to be the hardest, the longest, and the scariest fight we've ever been in. It will be a long, hard day. It will sap at your spirit and your strength.” She shook her head and gave them all a firm look, full of the determination and unbreakable spirit he so loved about her. “But I know all of you. I know what you're capable of and what you're fighting for. I wouldn't want anyone else standing behind me when I go to war. We _will _defend the monastery. We _will _repel Edelgard and her allies. And aside from making those people look like the _idiots _they are in the process? We're going to burn this wave of imperialism to a stop, and cast it down into the abyss of history where it _fucking _belongs! Now who's with me?!”

Everyone in the room roared back at full volume; Claude could hear Atra's voice among all of them, almost hoarse with savage delight and promise as she, like them, silently promised her eternal love and loyalty to the woman standing in front of them. Catherine was cheering as well, never mind the fact that she had seniority over the younger girl; Alois pumped his fist and looked incredibly determined in a way that wasn't goofy at all. Byleth glanced to and fro, a shaky smile on her face; he could see fear for them lingering behind the determination in her eyes.

_You're not alone, Teach. I'll be nearby. _

“Everyone who's fighting mounted, go and prepare them with some exercise. Everyone else, arm yourselves and move out to the front of the monastery; they'll join us when they're ready.” She had the voice of a queen as she gave out these orders. “And remember that no matter what happens tonight...I am so damned proud of all of you.”

That earned her another round of cheers before they dispersed. Knowing he had to prepare Ivory, Claude turned on the spot and clasped Dimitri's hand. His prince looked up and met his gaze; there was a storm in his eyes, a blaze that wasn't consuming him but was just waiting to be released. “I'll be overhead, watching out for you.” He murmured.

“...Please be careful...” Dimitri responded in equal quiet.

“I will if you will.” Claude reminded him, squeezing his wrist. He waited until the prince nodded, and then he smiled. “I'll see you soon.”

He turned around and gave Byleth the warmest grin he could manage. He hoped that it would give her a little more confidence, a little more strength in the belief that they would get through this without any one of them dying. Then he hurried off after the others to prepare.

* * *

“What's that, Claude?”

Claude tore the hastily-made package open the rest of the way, removing the large, glittering silver shield from within. He stared at it in disbelief for several seconds, feeling the magic pulsing beneath his fingertips – he almost couldn't believe it was real. _This is...Gramps... _Ivory snorted as Bernadetta leaned over the wall separating her stall from Nico, the young countess's horse. The white wyvern gave her a curious look, then accepted her with presence with a light nicker before returning her attention to her person.

“This...is an Aurora Shield,” He said a little breathlessly, turning the magnificent piece of smith work over in his hands. “There are maybe four or five in existence...supposedly Saint Macuil was the one who forged them during Serios's war against Nemesis.” _And now I have to take that seriously because I've __**met **__Sothis. _“It's an enchanted shield that protects the wearer from arrows. The....the rider is possibly close to being invincible if their wyvern or pegasus is wearing it; only other magic can pierce through the protective barrier it generates.”

“Whoa...” Bernadetta's eyes widened, and she stared at it in awe. “And it was sent to you?”

“Y...Yeah. How did Gramps find this thing...much less pay that messenger to run through Empire-infested roads to get it to me...?” Claude would like to deny it, but his hands were a little shaky as he tapped his fingers against the shimmering surface. As he looked at it, he could see the shifting colors flickering across the metal.

“He must have found it a while ago,” Bernadetta suggested, glancing at him. “And offered a lot of gold to that messenger. ...Your family is really cool, Claude.” She sighed, dropping down from the wall and walking over to her horse. “Why couldn't I be born to your mother?” She mumbled, quietly enough that he probably wasn't supposed to hear her, but did anyways.

_Gramps...I have to get back and thank you... _Taking a cleansing breath, Claude opened the stall and stepped inside, gesturing for Ivory to sit so he could place it on her. “Aw, don't feel too bad, Bernie. I'll introduce you and she'll adopt you in no time.”

“W-What?” He could just see Bernie turning bright red at the offer. “It-It's not nice to joke about things like that, Claude!”

“Who says I'm joking?” He responded easily, injecting as much seriousness into his voice as he could muster.

He heard her squeak again...and when she reappeared over the wall dividing them to stare at him with wide eyes, he smiled warmly at her. His 'little sister' stared wide eyed at him for a couple of seconds, then tears welled up at the edges of her eyes. (_Claude made a mental note that, should Count Varley be present at this battle, he would shoot the man in the stomach. It would ensure that he died slowly._) Both Ivory and Nico seemed to sense this; Ivory stretched her wing over and patted Bernadetta on the top of her head with it. Moments later, she squeaked when Nico nuzzled her side.

He was completely serious. Almyra had an old tradition, to ease blood feuds, where the victors of a defeated side would adopt someone who had been damaged by the conflict and make them part of the family. He didn't think even his uncle (_his father's still-living brother_) would raise an eyebrow at him shooting Count Varley full of arrows and bringing Bernadetta home.

“You joke about a lot of things, but not stuff like this,” Lysithea noted, surprising him. He saw her leading Maea by the reigns down the main line; Hannah and her pegasus – a tall, majestic figure with many battle scars – right at her heels.

“I do have taste, despite what I might lead people to believe,” He said with great dignity as he proceeded to bind the Aurora Shield to Ivory's chest, one strap at a time. She grunted and nosed him with curosity; he smacked her shoulder gently to get her to stop. “Please don't move, sweetheart, you'll thank me later when I don't have to cut arrowheads out of your stomach...”

“You got a last minute gift too, Claude? My parents sent me something...I got it the same day we received the ultimatum, actually.” She snorted. “Being told about the Agarthans must have spooked them something awful. I hope they didn't spend too much on this...” She sounded rather like she knew that was a feeble hope.

Hannah's gentle chuckle suggested she agreed with her. “That helmet might well save your life if you get knocked off Maea by an arrow, Little Lady,” She said chidingly. It was a sign of how much Lysithea respected the older mercenary woman that she didn't object to that moniker. “Your parents want you to come home. No amount of money is too much to try and ensure that.”

“...I know,” Lysithea said, so quietly Claude almost missed it. Her expression was pained when he glanced over his shoulder; it only lasted a second, though, before she shook her head and set her face in a queenly mask. “I'll see you guys in front of Garreg Mach.”

“See you,” Claude promised, snapping another buckle shut. Ivory ducked her head, nuzzling his shoulder and crooning in concern. “S'okay, girl,” He murmured. “I'm just getting worried of things I can't control.”

_Things Byleth can control, to an extent. Does her new powers mean she can use Divine Pulse more than eight times safely? She said she had new magic, what does that mean? Can...is she capable of cutting a mountain in half, like Nemesis could do in the legends? _A thrill went up his spine. _Bloody stars...if she can, maybe we can even win this, instead of just surviving this. _

Ivory lightly nipped at his hair. He yelped and swatted her side again, giving him an incredulous look. “Geez, someone's impatient.” He refocused on getting the shield the rest of the way secure, the low hum of chatter in the background both soothing his nerves and reminding him of how much he stood to loose in this fight.

“There, there, Nico...I know this armor isn't super comfortable, but I want you to have some protection...s-so...eep! M-Marianne, could you help me please? He really doesn't like these leathers, but he needs them, and...”

“I'm here, Bern. He's a little anxious, that's all; everyone in here knows that there's trouble coming.” Marianne's light footsteps passed into the stall next to him; moments later, there was a _crunch _of an apple being pulverized followed by Marianne's gentle cooing. “It'll only take a moment, I promise. This is the best way for you to support Bern, alright? I know you want to take care of her.”

The horse nickered; he stomped his hooves a few times before coming to a stop. Marianne hummed soft, sweet and peaceably as Bernie made various small noises of awe and leather shuffled and lightly smacked against a fur hide. “There's going to...to be a lot of enemies,” Bernadetta murmured, an edge of fear in her voice. “So you're going to need all the energy you can get, okay? Eat up.”

“You see? It's no trouble at all,” Marianne said, patting Nico on his mane. Claude finished attaching the Aurora Shield and gave it a few experimental tugs to ensure that it was fully secure. A purr rumbled in Ivory's throat as he stepped back and patted her muzzle, staring up into the eyes of his stalwart childhood companion.

_We're going to get through this alive, _He promised again, saying the words with his eyes. If he kept saying it, maybe that would guarantee that it was true. Ivory let out a small whine deep in her throat, lowering her head to nuzzle him again. And if he hugged her neck for a few seconds longer than he'd intended to...well, neither Marianne or Bernadetta would sell him out.

Releasing her, he hummed and walked to the side of the stall. A spare quiver of arrows, an extra bow in case his brave bow got damaged or broken, an ax and a sword were leaned up against the wall. Exhaling a long breath, Claude began to prepare; strapping the quiver to Ivory's saddle so it was easily in reach, attaching the ax and hanging the bow on the other side and putting the sword away at his hip. He adjusted what other armor his friend had that would protect her without weighing her down, then walked in one final circle around him. Ivory's tail wished as she watched him, golden eyes stern and confident. _I'm ready, _she told him through her body language. _Let us go and watch our enemies fall before us. _

Prince Khalid of Almyra, descendant of war, smirked wryly up at her. “That's the spirit.”

Across from him, Marianne helped Bernadetta up into the saddle. His 'little sister' was wearing pieces of armor that looked like they had to have been sized down to fit her slender frame; she fidgeted and raised her hand to her back as though worried it would obstruct her from reaching her quiver. Seeing as that wasn't the case, she sighed and shifted to make herself as comfortable as possible, taking the reigns from Marianne. “I...I'm not ready,” She confessed in a small voice. “I k-know I n-need to be, but...”

“It's okay to be scared, Bern,” Marianne said quietly.

“She's right,” Claude/_Khalid_ assured her, swinging up onto Ivory's back in one practiced motion. Bernadetta glanced between them as Marianne slipped out of the stall and mounted up on her own horse, Dorte. The fine stallion had a green blanket thrown over his back underneath his saddle, to indicate that she was a healer as well as a fighter; Holy Knights were greatly prized in warfare, and thus often the first target of enemies. The color indicator was a necessary evil, enabling fellow soldiers who were injured to see and move towards her for healing.

Of course, Marianne was no typical Holy Knight. Khalid could still see her transforming under the light of her Crest when he closed his eyes; he pitied the fool who looked at her and saw an easy mark. If he survived her magic and got close to her...they would wish they hadn't in how many seconds they had before her claws dug into his throat.

“Being brave isn't about not being afraid,” Khalid told Bernadetta, quoting word for word what his father had told him after the first live skirmish he'd fought in, when he'd shamefully apologized for freezing up after being splattered in blood and gore. “It's about being afraid, having a chance to flee, and choosing to fight instead. And in that...you're a hell of a lot braver than I am, Bernie.”

Bernadetta stared disbelievingly at him for a moment, before her eyes slowly brightened and she settled her face into controlled fear and determination. Khalid smiled at her and then knocked his heels against Ivory's side, urging her to start walking.

Ivory walked out into the hall, Dorte and Nico circling right behind her. Beyond them, Khalid saw Ashe strapping a lance above an extra quiver to his own armored horse before climbing onto his back, while Hapi sat astride her own black horse, waiting for him. _Lead the way, girl, _Khalid thought, patting Ivory's neck.

They strode out of the stables one after another; Ivory spread her wings and ran a few feet before taking off; Khalid looked down, seeing the sunlight glinting off of Ashe's armor and Bernadetta's sword at her side. Swooping over to either side of him were Lysithea and Constance, both clad in pegasus knight armor; Constance looked remarkably majestic, while Lysithea by contrast looked slightly unfitting, though they at least fit her. Hannah swooped along beside them, wearing comparatively less armor but no less dangerous for it; her eyes glittered as she looked around them, grimly taking in the children that she would be fighting side by side with.

“Well, Claude,” Constance said, her usual bravado thankfully restored. “I assume you have glorious strategies worthy of our magnificence for our upcoming foray?”

“I can think of a few,” Claude/_Khalid_ bantered easily. He was both pleased and flattered to see Constance beam with pleasure at this, while even Hannah looked confident. “I don't think they're going to see us coming.”

“Hah! If they don't make you a priority, they would prove themselves to be fools who deserve to loose.” Constance snorted. “You've proven again and again that you're heads and shoulders above the rest of us in tactical acumen; even your often lackadaisical attitude can't conceal _that_.”

“So you worry about being the big strategist, and we'll worry about protecting you,” Lysithea said in all seriousness, even as she smirked at him.

“Professor's orders,” Hannah added sweetly when he opened his mouth to (try to) respond to this display of faith and confidence.

“Well, when you put it like _that_...” He drawled instead, ignoring the way his heart did a backflip. _I have to do everything I can for them. This will be the harshest test I ever faced...at least my claim about being on pilgrimage to hone my fighting prowess won't be as much of a lie when I return to Almyra! _“Let's go find Seteth, shall we? I believe he has general command.”

“So you believe,” Hannah snorted. “Even he believes you're his superior in this matter; ask him when we get to the front if you don't believe me.”

Claude would later deny that his jaw dropped at this admission. He had an image to maintain, after all. It was mind-boggling, _Seteth _was_ ceding command _to_ him? _

..._Father, were you as terrified as I am now when you realized that you had, in fact, successfully won the throne away from your uncle? _

He really should have asked his father more questions before he set out.

They flew/cantered to the entrance of Garreg Mach. The area that he'd walked through some many times over the past few months was unrecognizable. The houses were emptied and re-purposed into defensive barriers; old furniture and damaged metal were placed in various tall piles to create barriers that would be difficult to surmise. The towering familiar figures of the bronze golems were placed semi-strategically at the mouth of the two side entrances and multiple yards in front of the middle stairwell into the monastery. Standing in units throughout the small town were many members of the Knights of Serios, their armor gleaming in the morning light. There were ballistics set up behind various tall walls and on the raised platform before the entrance to the monastery; a few were normal ones, the others were magical. He could see Manuela standing in front of one at the far left side, while the others were manned by people he didn't recognize from this height. A large black wyvern was perched on the edge of the raised wall; that had to be Seteth, he'd bet his life on it. In fact, close inspection revealed that all of his classmates and fellow students were standing on the raised platform, in a line in front of Catherine, Shamir, and Lady Rhea – the former acting as her honor guard along with a handful of highly ranked knights.

Blowing out a breath, Claude urged Ivory into a dive; he, Lysithea and Constance swooped down and landed on a space that had opened up for them. Sure enough, Seteth nodded to them when they turned his way, a lance leaning against his shoulder. “Good to see you,” He said; there was a little bit of sympathy in his eyes when he asked, “Are you all prepared for what's coming?”

“That's kind of a useless question, isn't it?” Lysithea muttered, before saying in a clearer voice, “We're as ready as we can be, sir.”

Seteth, rather than take offense, just nodded. “I understand; thank you.” He turned toward Claude. “The pegasus knights here will take orders from you if you have need of them, Claude. Do keep that in mind.”

“I will,” He managed when he could get his vocal cords to work; he turned and gave Hannah an incredulous look. She, a seasoned mercenary, was really okay taking orders from a noble brat? She merely gave him a pointed, confident smile in return before leading her pegasus off to the side to where Robb, resplendent in his Hero armor, was waiting.

Shaking his head, Claude looked to his other side, searching the crowd for certain someones. Raphael was dressed in the alarmingly light getup of a Grappler, bouncing on his feet with his eyes fixed straight ahead. Ignatz wore the light leather armor of an assassin, bow and quiver strapped over his back twirling his sword between his hands which crackled with dark magic; next to him, Flayn also wore light armor over her Priestess robes, projecting a serene calm that made her seem both very old and very mature in that moment.

(_Honestly, for some reason, looking at her made him think of the statues of Saint Cethleann. He wasn't sure where the mental image came from, but it suited her._)

Past them, Dorothea was pacing back and forth while Linhardt tried in vain to get her to stop. Ingrid was astride her pegasus, standing resolute while speaking in a low voice to Glenn. The latter wore both leather armor and chain mail beneath his sword master robes; as Claude watched them, he reached out and gently grasped Ingrid's wrist, making as if to press something into her hand. Felix, meanwhile, vaulted over the wall when he saw Bernadetta join Leonie on the floor below him where the knights were standing. He slowed to a stop at her side, and Claude was pretty sure he saw his 'little sister' sit up straighter when she saw him.

Leonie wasn't the only out in front on horseback; Sylvain was there with her, fire magic swirling around one hand with an axe in his other hand. He'd seen the redhead on sky watch, learning how to fly a wyvern, multiple times over the last three months; while he wasn't confident enough to fly into this battle, he was close to being better with his ax than he was with a lance. He waved to Ashe, Hapi and Marianne as they all trotted into place, for once without a joke to ease the tension they all shared.

Dimitri was on horseback, on the ground directly in front of him. Dedue was standing by his side, wearing the heavy leather armor of a Warrior; alongside him also in a priestess's robes was Mercedes, her hands pressed together in prayer. Annette was perched on the magical ballista not far from Ignatz on the wall; she was leaning on it, fidgeting in place as she stared at the horizon. Occasionally she would glance in Mercedes's direction, mouth out something Claude suspected was a prayer, then stare off into the horizon again.

Lorenz was standing with his arms crossed not far away from him, dark mage robes fluttering slightly in the breeze. Balthus stood side-by-side with Hilda, the former knocking his gauntlets together while the latter planted her relic ax against the stone ground, biting her lip. _Bet you're glad that Holst badgered you into accepting that 'creepy thing' now, huh? _He thought wryly.

Standing behind them, but in front of Rhea and her guard, was Byleth. Her swordmaster outfit had been exchanged to something roughly equivalent in battle-readiness, but pure white and with gold designs of symbols of the Serios church. If she was uncomfortable in this role – as he knew she was – there was no sign of it in her face; she caught his eye and made herself smile for him, one hand sliding down to the Sword of the Creator. Standing right at her side was Atra, still in her familiar dark swordmaster robes, occasionally glancing at the green-haired girl in a way that made it clear she'd nominated herself as her bodyguard. Yuri was a bit off to the side, where he could easily disappear to wreak some unexpected havoc and backstabbing among their enemy. His armor was light, but he _had _armor, which suggested that Byleth had snared him and ordered him to put it on; he preferred to go without it, after all.

Cyril was standing behind Raphael, ax slung over one shoulder, clearly resisting the urge to tremble. Sir Gilbert was standing on Byleth's left, his eyes constantly straying to where Dimitri was stationed. With his heavy armor, Claude wondered why he wasn't standing on the ground level with the other Blue Lions; perhaps he wanted to stay equally close to Annette, to keep an eye on her.

Claude grimaced and looked back and forth. _So many friends to look out for. So many people to worry about while the fight was raging on. _He knew that Byleth and Sothis would do everything in their considerable power to keep everyone alive; that didn't stop him from worrying. Especially about her. _I can't risk loosing you...please, be careful..._

He settled in his saddle, patting Ivory's neck. Then he began to wait, along with the others.

There was nothing more to be said.

* * *

They didn't have to wait too long.

The sun burned overhead as the first sound of the Empire horns roared in the distance. Ivory's head snapped up; she snarled and pushed up from the sitting position she had been in. Claude rushed to re-mount, breaking off the planning he'd been doing with Constance with half an apology. Nervous cries echoed all over the wide open yard within the monastery walls.

“Hold firm!” Rhea shouted, her voice projected like a wave of wind; hard, unshakable and authoritative, as though she'd been leading armies all of her life. “You are the protectors of Fodlan's soul, carriers of faith and honor and the way to heaven! Hold! Firm!”

When the Empire emerged over the grassy fields and hills from the forest, they appeared like a massive black wave. Claude's throat tightened. There was no better word for it; the sheer number of enemies running toward the walls of Garreg Mach formed a black and red ripple, a wave about to crash against a shore.

And that was before they heard the roaring.

Demonic Beast roars were unmistakable. Claude cursed softly at the sound, even though he'd been expecting it. The ground trembled ever so slightly under the sound of beasts running ahead of the forces. _That's their siege weaponry, I'm willing to bet. _The roars echoed out again, and then they were joined by a higher pitched, screechy call that made his head snap up towards the sky.

“Isn't that...?” Lysithea started warily. She followed his gaze skyward out in front, where the clouds were dotted by dark specks..some, Claude realized sourly, upon closer inspection, were bigger than others.

“Something tells me certain architects were told to experiment with wings,” Claude agreed, before raising his voice. “Don't fly out now; you'll just get shot down! Stay within the walls!”

_Get ready, my Khalid, _his father's voice echoed in his ears, recalled from all those years ago during that simple skirmish. _Prepare to fight like you want to live. _

Khalid set his expression in a hard mask of cold amusement.

The wave approached the walls, coming almost up to the gates, and then stopped.

Just stopped. Even the Demonic Beasts skidded to a halt, which was more than a little unsettling considering how they usually behaved. The vast black and red covered a large chunk of the field around them, but it had a visible end point...while they were outnumbered to an alarming degree, they were the ones defending in the siege. They were not bereft of advantages.

He could hear the golems whirl to life, rolling forward on their wheels several feet. The knights in the various twisting roadways lowered their weapons and closed their visors. Ivory bunched up her muscles, preparing to lift off. Khalid gave Byleth a quick look he hoped conveyed his concern, his determination, and his love for her. Then he looked ahead and drew two arrows, waiting.

...And waiting...

Slowly, a rythmic pounding became audible. Empire, banging lances against the ground and stone. First it was just one or two rows, but as the minutes dragged on, more and more joined in until it was a rattling din not unlike a raging rainstorm. Jeers and calls of 'tyrant!', 'beast!' and 'power to the people!' echoed out from those soldiers mixed in through that racket. Khalid set his jaw, annoyed by the arrogant display and turned his head toward Annette. “Hey, Annie!” He called out.

She jumped at his voice, spinning to stare at him. The demonstration was clearly getting to them; time to do something about that. “Shift the ballista eighty-five degrees upward, then fire on my mark,” He called. He heard Byleth let out a pleased laugh and smirked. Annette – and the rest of the ballistics men, for that matter – scrambled to do so. Turning to the front, he waited for a beat and then shouted, “Now!”

Annette grabbed the orb and fired a high-powered spell into it. A ball of fire blasted out of it, flying up over the walls along with an orb of white light and a storm of ballista arrows, before landing with a powerful _thud _within the lines of the enemies. Screams erupted from the other side, breaking up the intimidation setup; Claude heard the dry grass catch fire, horses breaking and running at the sudden noise and flames. _I don't think so, Edelgard, _he thought flatly.

A huge cheer erupted from the defenders; Khalid heard not a few calls of his Fodlan name as a chant from the knights. “Reset for pegasus knights and demonic beasts coming in overhead!” He called over the racket nonetheless. Annette smiled gratefully in his direction and did just that.

“Well done,” Seteth said, sounding a little shaken. For a moment the older man had a look on his face like he was lost in a memory; Khalid hoped that he would shake it off. This was not a good place to travel down memory lane.

“Don't start praising me yet,” The war prince told him, eyes still ahead.

Cries of rage echoed from the enemy army; demands for retribution, to charge forward rather than 'waste time' lowering morale. _Let them make mistakes._ The Demonic Beasts snarled and pawed at the ground, clearly straining harshly at their leashes.

The front line, which he could just _barely_ see through the front gates from his position, opened up. A single figure on horseback approached the gates, their weapon swinging loosely in the air. Claude couldn't see any defining features from there, but he was quickly given the name by the horrified cries of the knights near the front.

“It's the Death Knight! The Death Knight is alive!”

_Him?! Ugh, damn it...he bounced back from loosing his eye? He retrained himself to accommodate for that fast! _

“So it begins,” Rhea declared remotely; there was an undercurrent of rage in her voice, like a caged, starving wyvern just begging to be released.

The words couldn't have been better timed; moments later, the Demonic Beasts threw themselves against the gates. The iron and steel was dented inward on the impact, stone falling loose from the wall surrounding them. Khalid _tsked _and clicked his heels against Ivory's side; he could almost see his mount smirk before they hurtled into the air, moving forward. Lysithea and Constance were directly on his heels. “Constance, you're up,” He said easily.

Constance raised her hand and, with a cold solemnity, snapped her fingers.

Bolting was as savage and uncompromising a hit as ever; siege mages were _feared _on the battlefield, even when they were ground-bound and their range limited to how fast they could run and having to stay in one location to keep themselves alive. A siege mage on the back of a pegasus? Khalid was surprised no one else had thought of it. He was pretty sure they were about to give a whole lot of people nightmares for a long time to come.

The lighting crashed down on the ground behind the beasts that were ramming the gate. The Death Knight might have gotten hit, or maybe he avoided it – as disturbed as he was, the man was a brilliant warrior and an even better killer. But the brutal blast hit the front lines like the hammer of the heavens, sending foot soldiers scattering in a frantic effort to avoid the magic that had incinerated who-knew-how-many of their comrades.

The blazing light of Constance's forgotten Crest was hovering overhead; still wearing her sun-solemn expression, she snapped her fingers again – dropping a second bolting as she, Lysithea, Claude and Ingrid flew in formation near the gate the beasts were close to punching through. She aimed the lighting bolt further back into the force of enemies, smashing another massive crater in the middle of it and starting a fire that began to spread across the dried grass. That blaze would quickly burn out of control if Edelgard didn't take the time to do something about it... _Good. That was a happy accident; if it had rained at any point over the last two weeks..._

His keen eyes caught sight of a formation that his father had drilled into him from the day he came home with Ivory in tow. “Archers, guys, archers! Drop down!” He warned. Lysithea cussed before the four of them dropped into a dive; seconds later, a hail of arrows flew over their heads and landed semi-harmlessly in the ground.

Moments later, the Demonic Beasts burst through the gates like they were so much tinder.

Lysithea was on them in seconds; she threw Seraphim down at the leader, burning into his back and dropping him to the ground. Constance switched over to Sagitte while Ingrid pulled out the Blessed Lance the Blue Lions had won from the Battle of the Eagle and Lion seemingly an eternity ago. “Cover me, Claude!” She shouted as she continued to dive.

“On it!,” He promised, pressing his left heel into Ivory's side. She snorted and banked hard, allowing him to fire a litany of arrows at the two beasts who were bringing up the rear; it didn't do them serious harm, but it did cause them to skid to a halt.

That was precisely what Ingrid needed; she flew down until her pegasus's hooves were practically gazing the fur on its back and rams the lance into its neck. The blessing caused it to pierce straight through the magical barrier, the flesh and the bones in one smooth blow. She pulled it out and then stabbed the neck again in rapid succession, this time forcing it all the way down through the neck, severing it from its body. Then she was flying onward, leaving it to die on the road as she banked and started to turn. Claude flew around after her, watching Lysithea and Constance hammer another one of those demonic beasts into submission -

-and then his eyes caught a massive blaze of gold coming from the direction of the monastery. “Hey guys pull back!” He yelled, knowing precisely what it meant. They obeyed him without question, getting well out of the way of the heart and soul of their forces.

Byleth let out a wordless shout and swung the blade of the Creator's Sword upward. The blast of magic generated by the attack formed a massive golden scythe, tearing up the main road to the gates. The beast that saw it couldn't move out of the way – it _vanished _within that power, which crashed through the gate and _consumed _the first two, three dozen men who'd been charging through that gate. The shock wave from the attack, even after it dissipated, sent dozens more flying like ragdolls.

Khalid pulled back up half a dozen feet, looked into the sky around him, and let out a breath. Then he casually turned to the right and shot his brave bow twice. The arrows slammed into two different pegasus knights, dropping them like flies; he winced at their screams which cut off when they hit the ground. That didn't exactly thin things out; the Empire was famous for their pegasus knights, and that was obvious with the knights flying his way.

Of course, he wasn't alone either. Lysithea dodged past a knight and threw Luna at her back, causing her and her mount to vanish into the creepy spell and become nothing. Hannah swooped in and cut off another knight that had designs on Constance, who cast Bolting once again aimed at the army outside the gates, splitting them up further and destroying their cohesion, sparking more fires and spreading chaos in the back ranks.

_Just as planned, _Khalid thought with a grim sort of relief. _That should buy us some time. How much – who knows, with Edelgard to hold them together – _

A screech alarmingly close to him forced him to abandon that line of thought; he wheeled around and saw the two bird demonic beasts flying toward him.

There was so little comparison between these new creatures and the Sky Fiends that Claude recognized that he knew right away – this was part of Thales's contribution to Edelgard's invasion attempt. They were elongated, with larger, longer bodies and massive wing spans, feathers like lances and talons as big as a tall man's whole body. Their heads were massive, formed into a creepy mask that covered all but the long, lance-like beak. They let out an unnatural screech as they approached him.

Khalid snorted and clicked his heels against Ivory's side again. _Fear will keep you alive, let it lie beneath your strength, _his father's voice echoed as he flew faster, darting around them and firing arrows at the wings as their massive bodies twisted in an attempt to keep up. His eyes were trained on the wings; he hit one right in the middle membrane, causing it to screech. Of course, while it dropped several feet, its friend wasn't so-

-he didn't even get to finish that thought before a golden blast from the ground flew upward like a spike bursting out of the ground, ripping the beast in half like a wet piece of parchment.

_Goddess, Byleth! ...You better not be alone down there, I swear, or you're going to get a lecture when I have to give Ivory a break. _

Spinning an arrow, Claude aimed while Ivory flew over the beast he'd injured; he fired the dual arrows down at its other wing. The impact shattered the magic barrier and caused it to fall to the ground, screaming in agony. Looking out at the sky, Claude searched for another flying demonic beast.

_They're a problem unlike the ones stuck on the ground; they can fly over our defenses and attack the ballistics, attack the healers and mages before swooping away. We need to make sure they're occupied. ...Ah, there's one._

He wheeled forty-five degrees and urged Ivory into a charge in a straight line, heading for one that had designs on Constance, the mage being preoccupied making the various commander's lives difficult. Below them, the black and red mass of the Imperial army was beginning to pour into the monastery grounds; they quickly found themselves bottle-necked by the blockades Yuri had painstakingly placed in all the important roads.

A volley from the friendly ballistics came to their aide immediately; the demonic beast caught a magic blast to the side; not quite debilitating, it hadn't been a good hit, but it slowed it down and did significant damage to his side.

Khalid shifted in the seat, lined up two arrows and whistled sharply at Ivory. His wyvern snarled, shooting forward. She flew underneath the struggling beast, narrowly missing its angry swipes and wingbeats, and spun herself in a corkscrew.

Khalid saw the red flash where the magic barrier had been burnt through, leaving the stomach vulnerable, and fired two anti-beast head arrows at near point blank. When Ivory shot past and righted herself, he _felt _the air pressure from the badly-injured beast dropping to the ground, just narrowly missing them – falling to where it would be easily finished off by the ground troops.

“I'll end this!” Ingrid shouted behind him; the cry of a feminine voice followed by a crash caused him to glance over his shoulder. The pegasus that had been headed in his direction instead nickered in dismay and flew down after its rider. Ingrid, a few feet away from that spot, waved at him. “Don't worry, I've got your back!”

“Thanks!” He shouted back, scanning the sky for a new target.

The battle was just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (stares at the character list for this battle) ...What the hell have I gotten myself into...
> 
> Claude is slipping between his two names because he's thinking more and more like the warrior prince he technically is, but pretends not to be. His dad's blood is coming out strong ;)
> 
> This battle is gonna be a long one. I hope this is a good start~ (muttering to self) I hope to do something a little like you, Tolkien-Sensei...


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth tries to keep track of her precious students amidst the chaos of war.

“Allow me to demonstrate!”

If Nemesis had always felt like this – like he was a god walking on the mortal earth, that he could reshape it with the twist of his wrist – then perhaps the fact that he fell from grace was no surprise. As Byleth swung the Sword of the Creator again, straight down the road toward the massive wave of infantry enemies, she was glad more than ever that she had Sothis by her side.

Golden light flared and burst forward, tearing across the ground and through the soldiers like a farmer's scythe cutting wheat. The light was so intense Byleth winced and narrowed her eyes a bit against it; she could hear screaming and warnings not to look coming from elsewhere, so clearly she had some sort of buffer against it.

She looked at the devastation caused by the fully awakened Sword of the Creator through the falling dust, and might have gawked if she were a more outwardly emotional girl. The blow hadn't completely destroyed the street in front of her, but it had carved deep groves in it – rendering the road uncross-able by all but the most athletic horses – and many of the Empire solders who had been standing in front of her were just...gone. Vanished like they'd never existed, except for ash fluttering down from the sky.

_Sothis...please, don't let me go mad with this power..._

_Of course I won't, _Sothis said; Byleth felt a light _thwap _at the back of her head, a chastisement if there ever was one. _Now stay focused! _

_Right!_

Robb and Hugo dashed past her, their armor catching the corner of her eyes as they set upon a battalion of ax wielding men, tearing through them with more ferocity than they'd applied to a job in a long time. Among all the chaos, screaming and crashing, seeing them was a relief. As she moved off to the side to support a faltering group of Knights trying desperately to reinforce an alleyway, she saw Justine whirl past, Thoron blasting through the chest plate of a knight she used as a jumping-off point to thrust her Levin Sword upward, casting a thunderbolt up at a pegasus knight above. The electricity was conducted by the knight's armor, searing the soft flesh beneath and causing her to fall from her mount with a chopped off scream. Juno appeared from around the corner in the blink of an eye, throwing a blistering series of haymakers and punches on a halpless archer who'd been attempting to commandeer a ballista from a fallen monk. He didn't even last a full ten seconds.

Pointing her hand out, Byleth cast Aura as she ran; the blaze of white magic struck the dark bishop that had taken aim at Juno's back, giving her time to spin around and lunge at him next. Darting through the alleyway with speed she'd not possessed before (_how much had fusing with Sothis's heart changed her? She was running on instinct, hadn't had a time to patiently test herself_), she caught up with those knights and shouted, “Get down!”

They obeyed her to a man, and she swung the Sword of the Creator in a wide arc. The knights who had been crowding forward, lances and swords thrusting, had no time to move before the crackle of goddess-given power smashed into them and sent them flying like so many ragdolls.

Byleth let out a relieved sigh and weaved among the injured, exhausted knights, kneeling in order to heal the worse of their injuries. She did her best to ignore the awed, reverent looks they gave her and the way some of them attempted to bow to her despite the situation. “I'll call for reinforcements to be sent this way,” She promised before sheathing the sword and leaping up, digging her feet into the wall and propelling herself up onto the small house's roof.

Now elevated from the ground, she could look out across the battlefield and adjust her current plans to accommodate for the changes. The scene was...well, it wasn't as grim as it, by all rights, should have been...but it wasn't _good_. After all, no-one defender in a siege battle saw any good in there being a gaping hole in their defensive walls that the enemy could filter through.

Fortunately the Empire advance was slowed to an absolute crawl – and it was thanks to Claude and Constance. The fires they had started with the latter's opening Bolting attacks were now raging out of control, the flames so tall they were licking the upper edges of Garreg Mach's walls. Unless the Imperial army wanted to be consumed – or choke to death on the sheer amount of smoke filling the air – they had to wrestle control over the blaze, wasting precious resources in the process; possibly including water. So only a third of the Empire's best men were able to slowly trickle their way through the opening created by the Demonic Beasts.

Of course that was still a _third _of the biggest army in Fodlan; the fighting within the streets and the plaza in front of the monastery was thick and fierce. The Golems were creating little 'pockets' of defensible land, their holy lances just as effective against her current enemies as they'd been against her students – moreso, even, since many of the knights approaching them didn't know what they were or what they were capable of until it was too late. The sky was thick with pegasus knights; it seemed like Claude, Lysithea, Constance, Ingrid, Hannah, Seteth and the rest of the airborn troops had wiped out the flying demonic beasts for now. They were continuing to fight, arrows and magic flying through the air; thankfully Claude and Lysithea at least were easy to spot due to their eye-catching mounts. They at least seemed to be managing for now.

Finding the rest of her students – _that _was more of a challenge. The grounds were engulfed in fighting, a blur of mud, blood and flickering flames; it was only the brightly colored uniforms her friends wore beneath their armor that could draw her eye to their location.

She found Balthus first, fighting side by side with a filthy but energetic Hilda. They were more or less back to back, forming a whirlwind of death down one of the side streets assisted by Gustav from his horseback. They were pretty badly outnumbered, however; grimacing, Byleth glanced to her right, then her left, then put her heel down and jumped.

The ground beneath her blurred; a few moments later she slammed down on the roof of the house across the road from where she'd been standing before; her knees barely buckled on the impact. Drawing her sword again, Byleth let out a high, sharp whistle – the old Almyran stand by her father had picked up years ago. Gustav, Hilda and Balthus both looked up, grinned, and scrambled backwards as she jumped from the thatched roof in front of the rows of Empire soldiers and dark mages. _Are some of you Agarthan? Take this back to your masters. _She cast Aura at the ground; the explosion caused dirt to fly upward and a shockwave that knocked the first dozen men backwards. “Hilda,” She called over her shoulder.

She could see the pinkette smirk without humor without turning around. “Oh my way,” She blurred past Byleth, Freikugel blazing with bloody red light amidst its golden rays. The men who had passed by the ranks of their disoriented brothers in arms jerked back in horror when she came to a stop and raised the relic ax over their head. “That's enough!” She fired at them as she brought the axe down.

'Apocalypse' was a word used to describe the full power of the Goneril family's relic weapon. Unlike the magic mist that obscured Failnaught's wielder from view while leaving their vision perfectly clear, the guaranteed savaging that Aearhbar inflicted on its victims without fail, the perfect accuracy over obscene distance that the Thyrsus staff provided those who had the Gloucester Crest or the madness that dwelled within Blutrang, the power within Freikugel was straightforward – it crushed everything within several yards into oblivion, leaving only a blasted crater behind.

Byleth _felt _the blowback from the impact; Hilda's silhouette nearly vanished briefly within the flare of light. The noise was beyond description; it even swallowed up the local chaos of the battlefield. Heat blew against her face, and then a few seconds later it was over.

When she blinked light out of her eyes, she could see Hilda straightening up, Freikugel swinging by her side as she looked out at what few enemies were still standing in front of her. A massive crater was blasted into the ground where their enemies had been standing moments ago, ash and blackened cloth scattered throughout it. The pinkette was green in the face, clearly trying hard not to think about what she'd just done; instead she jutted her chin out and glared defiantly at her would-be killers. “Who's next?” She asked.

Their answer – break and flee. It made Balthus chuckle, clapping a hand on Byleth's shoulder. “I think we got this now, thanks Prof. Need a leg up?” He asked.

Byleth turned around and gave him a quick once over; just to make certain that he wasn't hurt. Gustav saw this and smiled at her, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Glancing just past him revealed Falrie, hard at work healing a number of Knights; she looked up just long enough to give her child charge an encouraging smirk. “Yes please.”

Balthus knelt and braced his gauntlet-glad arms out in front of them; Byleth jumped off of them and climbed back up onto the rooftop. She saw a pegasus knight flying her way; without hesitation she grabbed the Sword, unsheathed it and swung it upward.

The arcing light sliced off the animal's wing; both it and the rider fell to the ground. Byleth grimaced, forcing down the sick feeling in her gut as she looked away across the battlefield. _There are so many people, _she thought bleakly as she desperately searched for her students – her friends – throughout the burning chaos. _How can I possibly save them all?_

_All you can do is save as many as you can, _Sothis responded solemnly. _As I did, when Agartha burned the world with their weapons..._

Byleth felt her chest tighten at the reminder of what was at stake. What could – what _would –_ happen, how many, many more innocents would die, if they didn't defeat Edelgard and destroy Thales whom she was empowering. _There! _Sothis gasped urgently, _Out to the south east!_

Her head snapped in that direction, and then she was running – jumping from roof to roof.

* * *

Marianne had gotten herself pinned in a back street, her mobility greatly reduced, while trying to heal fellow soldiers; Ashe was trying to get to her, but armored knights were blocking his way and striking at his horse in an attempt to kill it. He was acquitting himself very well – two armored knights were dead on the ground, arrows expertly fired through the narrow slits of their visors – but there were three assassins bedeviling Marianne who'd had to dismount to keep up with them.

What was worse was that Byleth could see Marianne shuddering, along with a flickering dark blue light around her from her crest. Setting her teeth, she threw herself over a roof until she was right above her blue-haired friend and pointed her hand, casting Thunder down on the one of the assassin's head.

His steel armor spread the blow throughout his whole body. He _dropped, _twitching erratically where he lay, while Marianne's head snapped up. The transformation that had been creeping up on her stopped just after turning her arm into an elongated claw; lunging forward, she grabbed one of her tormentors by the head and bashed it against the wall, before casting Nosferatu. The white light and a splash of gore painted the stones, and when Marianne pulled her hand back, the claws and scales warped back into her human hand.

Byleth jumped down into the alley, glancing over her shoulder to check on Marianne's patients. They all seemed to be alive except for two – and happily, none of them seemed to have noticed her momentary transformation. “Thank you, Professor.” Marianne said as she grabbed Dorte's reigns. “W-Where did you come from?”

“Up,” She responded factually and slightly playfully. The words startled a laugh out of Marianne as she re-mounted; which was good. Byleth then turned around to head back to help Ashe.

However that was rendered unnecessary by two things in quick succession; Marianne bolted past her, Thoron blazing in one hand. When she turned the corner Byleth saw her point her hand at one of the two remaining knights still forcing Ashe back and shouted “I have to do this!” Poor bastard didn't even get a chance to turn around before the magic fried him through his armor. That gave Ashe the manuverability he'd needed; slinging his bow over his back, he drew a killer lance he'd picked up somewhere and rammed it through one of the chinks in his opponents armor. The impact tore muscle and artery, and Ashe trotted past his now-fallen enemy to rejoin Marianne, relief flooding the parts of his face that weren't obscured by his helmet.

“Marianne? Marianne!” Ingrid's voice echoed from overhead; the three of them looked up to see the blonde pegasus knight looking down at them. Relieved, she pointed her lance further down the field and said, “Flayn's swamped with injured; Linhardt's on the other side of the battlefield, he can't get to her soon enough. Go and lend her some support! Ashe, can you go help Sylvain and Leonie? They're trying to slow the reinforcements coming through the broken gate but they've got little back up!”

“Okay!” Marianne cried.

“Ingrid, can you give me a lift?” Byleth called as Ashe rushed off after his new fiance(?), before the girl could fly off. “I need to see where I'm needed most!”

In lieu of responding verbally, Ingrid swooped down and landed momentarily at her side. Accepting her offered hand, Byleth swung up onto the saddle and held onto the blonde's shoulders as they lifted off. “Claude sent me back,” Ingrid explained.

“How is he?” Byleth asked, before quickly casting Thunder at an approaching pegasus knight. Ingrid threw a javelin when that only staggered their enemy; the second impact dropped her. There was a distinct flare of very light blue light along the javelin before it was thrown; her crest strengthening the impact beyond what it might have been otherwise.

“His crest is keeping him safe and strong,” Ingrid assured her, nodding at the general skyline. Byleth gave herself a moment to look through the late afternoon sky, squinting against glare until she caught sight of a familiar white wyvern spinning in a circle around another one of those winged demonic beasts. Seconds later, a black dot that could only be Lysithea flew up from the ground, Seraphim flashing across the sky and hitting the monster in the wing – burning through the limb and causing it to crash to the ground.

“Good to know...where's Dimitri? I haven't seen him for a while...”

Which might well by hours at this point. Byleth had lost any sense of time as the siege dragged on, only vaguely aware of its passage thanks to the position of the sun. She's been rushing from one end of this battlefield to another, burning five Divine Pulses so far to keep everyone's head above water, and she was starting to loose track of who was where.

“He's fighting near the open gate; he was with Sylvain, but they got cut off from each other-”

“Right; take me there. Maybe I can try to do something about that entrance way while I'm there!”

“If you say so,” Ingrid said, a little worry in her voice. “Hang on; we're going up to avoid archers!”

Byleth swallowed and tightened her grip on her friend as her pegasus nickered and them shot upward like a cork. They flew across the field for a brief minute, Byleth casting Thunder at the other enemy knights who had similar ideas about avoiding Ashe, Ignatz, Bernadetta and Shamir (to name a few). Ingrid was muttering prayers to herself, all in Old Fodlanese; Faerghus nobles all learned the old tongue, since it was believed to have been the language Serios and Sothis spoke to each other. Her pegasus arced over a number of arrow shows – Byleth's stomach lurched when the projectiles whipped past, _that was so close –_ when Ingrid broke off and cursed, “There! He's there!”

She swooped down; Byleth's stomach lurched when she saw what the blonde had seen.

* * *

Dimitri wasn't alone – mercifully, Atra was with him, guarding his back. He'd given up his horse to a wounded soldier who had been lead away by a night, and was fighting ferociously on foot. As they dived, Atra swung her fire sword up, the wave of flames shooting across the ground and hitting a mage, causing their robes to combust. The twosome were surrounded on either side by knights, pinned in a corner away from the gate; looking down from the sky, Byleth could see Glenn, Felix and Bernadetta struggling to get to them past some mages and the fires they had started. _It's a miracle no one's passed out from smoke inhalation; I know that the Empire forces outside haven't been so lucky...! _

“Drop me on the roof!” She told Ingrid, swinging her leg off the side of the saddle. The blonde made a slight disbelieving noise but did as she ordered, swooping just low enough for her to make the jump. Shoving off, Byleth landed with a thud and unsheathed the Sword. “Dimitri, Atra, move!” She shouted.

Her prince glanced up for a second, spotted her, and quickly jumped back – shoving Atra backward right before doing so. Byleth then jumped down onto the muddy, blood-soaked earth, a stomach churning _squelch _echoing from under her boots, and channeled magic through the blade just as Hilda had done with her ax not long ago. “Here is something to believe in,” She shouted – more for the sake of what few knights were still alive this close to the wall – before unleashing the sword's power.

The impact obliterated the house wall that had formed half of the narrow passageway; she heard rocks crumble and shingles crack over the chopped-off screams of men and horses. The light faded a few moments later, revealing that she'd incinerated half of the house to her left more cleanly than the most violent forest fire, digging a massive curve into the ground for twenty yards out in front of her. What few had survived her attacks were stumbling out of the way, many having fallen over; the knights on the opposite side of the gate cheered loudly at the sign of her proximity before rallying again.

Byleth let out a harsh breath (_I hope the people who owned that house didn't leave too many valuables behind, _she thought inanely) and spun around, frantically looking for Dimitri. “Are you hurt?” She demanded, stumbling in the heavy mud and nearly falling to her knees.

Then an arrow hit her in the shoulder.

Gasping, she dropped to one knee. “Byleth!” Dimitri's voice echoed from the smoke in front of her, followed moments later by a corpse falling off of a nearby rooftop. An sniper, ironically now with an arrow buried in his neck.

“I'm fine,” She rasped as her prince pulled her to his feet, terror in his eyes. She clasped his face reassuringly; now that she was over the shock, she noted that the pain was far less than she remembered similar injuries causing her previously. “They hit my off arm.”

“You need to get to Linhardt,” Dimitri fretted, before pushing her down and ducking. A blast of sickening dark magic – either Miasma or Banshee, it went by too quickly to tell – whipped over their heads and crashed into the wall. “He's...he's back at one of the defensive lines...”

“Oh, you mean you noticed you'd overreached?” Byleth asked him in exasperation as Atra zipped past them, cutting the mage's hand with one sword and impaling him with the other in as many seconds. She pointed her finger and cast Thunder at the knight approaching the renegade Agarthan, allowing her to focus on the other mages.

“Save lecturing me for when you don't have an arrow in your back,” The blonde half-snapped, half pleaded, leading her over some rubble and the corpses of a couple of knights.

“And _you_? Where did all that blood come from, Dimitri?” Byleth demanded after casting Fire at another sniper trying to stake out another rooftop vantage point. He staggered backwards, then got struck down by another arrow. She heard a horse neighing over the chaos, _Bernadetta?_

“It's my enemies,” He said; rather unemotionally by his standards.

“Don't you dare lie to me right now,” she rasped, giving him a pointed look.

“...I've pulled a muscle, at least,” Dimitri amended slightly. Atra turned around long enough to give him an incredulous look before promptly getting distracted by a pair of mounted knights. “Ah, hand me that javelin Byleth.”

She did, and Dimitri took half a step forward before throwing it. The discarded weapon hit one of Atra's incoming opponents in the neck; while perhaps their armor had saved them, the impact of Blaiddyd strength sent them falling from the horse. Atra jumped out of the way of the other knight's charge, disarmed them of their lance with her twin swords, and then slashed the connecting buckles of the saddle. The leather slipped sideways, causing the knight to fall and dangle off the side of their horse who promptly took off out of fear – dragging them along like a toy.

“There's so many of them,” Atra panted when the two of them caught up with her. Byleth gently placed a hand on her forehead, casting Heal on the nasty wound over her eyes. “Unless we can somehow close off that hole in the wall for a while, I don't know how long we can do this...”

“I know,” Byleth acknowledged with a sympathetic wince, moving her hand to heal the nasty bruising in the other girl's ribs. Dimitri meanwhile had taken point, slinging a bow off of his shoulders and shooting down a mage that had tried to creep up on them. “Let's get back to Linhardt, and I'll try to think of a solution.”

“There he is, the Prince of Faerghus!” The voice made Byleth curse ferociously and turn again while Atra tensed up all over except her legs. They had just passed into a larger street, and now the three of them were facing an entire battalion of warriors Much more worryingly, however, the man at the head of the pack wore ornate armor and a metal that indicated he was a General in the Imperial army. He had a massive silver ax that had obviously been reforged for extra strength; they didn't have any distance support, but they outnumbered the three of them by a wide margin.

“Prince Blaiddyd! By order of Her Majesty, Emperor Edeglard of Adrestia, I demand your unconditional surrender!” The man declared, pointing his ax at them. “Surrender and give up the servants of Rhea; I may intercede for your life to be spared!”

“Is that a _**JOKE?!**_” Dimitri snarled back, his rage ricocheting off the walls of the smoke-filled alley. Byleth tried to grab his wrist, but a muscle seize-up by the arrow in her shoulder made her just miss him as he stormed forward. “I'll throw your head to that _**witch**_ straight over these walls!”

Atra cursed and quickly darted to the far side of the wall as Dimitri charged. She spun her flame sword and then swung upward, causing a line of flame to cut across the ground into the battalion and forcing them to scatter out of formation. Dimitri casually grabbed the closest man by the head and slammed it into the wall, causing a wince-inducing crack before he fell like a broken marionette. The General rushed him and brought his ax down in an overhead arc; Dimitri stopped him by grabbing the length of his lance with his hand – not unlike what he did to the Death Knight many months ago. Twisting his wrist as it glowed with the light of the royal crest, Dimitri snapped the weapon in half before grabbing an arrow out of his quiver and stabbing the man in the shoulder with it. Shoving him away and to the ground, the prince ducked under another ax and swiped the broken ax head off the ground before slamming it into his foot. As the man screamed, Dimitri pulled his leg out from under him, swung him across the ground and then threw him into one of his fellow warriors; both of them were flung into the wall with enough force to crack the stone.

Byleth wasn't idle; she hurried forward and cast Bolganone, catching a warrior and forcing the others to back up-

-and get shot full of ghostly arrows.

Relief swept over Byleth as Bernadetta hurtled around the corner, arrows drawn on her killer bow as she took aim. Seconds behind her was Felix, blurring forward to stab a warrior while Glenn disarmed the other and slammed the hilt of his sword into the other's face. With one final strike from Atra, the alley was mostly empty except for the General, who looked stunned at the turnaround.

“Thank you for reminding me why I'm never allowed to let you go anywhere by yourself!” Glenn snapped at Dimitri. The prince was allowed about a second to be confused by that comment before the filthy, older Fraldarius brother shot across the alleyway and embraced him tightly. “Idiot brat...what kind of plan was that?!”

“G-Glenn?” Dimitri stammered, shocked. “W-What did you just call me?”

“Four years and I still have to take care of you two brats?” The blue haired boy laughed, pushing the prince back a bit and studying him intensely for injuries. Just beyond him, Bernadetta and Atra were going after the General, who'd fled when he realized how badly he'd miscalculated. “But of course, you never bloody listened to me about strategic retreats, why would you start now?”

“G-Glenn...y-you...you r-remember?” The prince choked out.

Byleth smiled wanely, her gaze falling over Glenn and Felix. The younger brother looked like he was trying to maintain his usual cool, but his shaky hands were telling. “Only a handful of things,” Glenn acknowledged. “Not even the majority, I don't think...but I do remember an important thing about my little brat brothers – to never leave you alone when the battlefield's on fire.” He ruffled the prince's hair.

Dimitri let out a weak, choked-off sob and clutched Glenn's hand tightly. Felix made a face and snapped, “Don't call me that – I'm not a kid anymore!” The wobble in his voice slightly undermined his usual ire.

“Yeah...you got a lot grumpier,” Glenn retorted teasingly.

“Um, g-guys?! T-This is r-really sweet, but we n-need to fall back to Linhardt! The professor's hurt!” Bernadetta protested, having returned to the alley alongside Atra. The latter gave Byleth an apologetic look – suggesting the general got away – before helping her up onto Nico's back just behind her petite student.

“R-Right,” Dimitri gulped, his rage all but completely vanishing beneath a shaky tearful smile.

The four on-foot warriors formed a rear-guard for Bernadetta as she urged her horse through the narrow pathways to the 'safe area' dozens of yards back. It was a somewhat large clearing with a large 'blessed circle' at the end of a long stone pathway; usually it was a 'prayer circle' surrounded by a garden, but of course it didn't look anything like that right now. Linhardt was on his hands and knees, casting heal on a badly mangled sniper – eyes shut in concentration. Both the grass and the stone were covered in stretchers where knights were either unconscious or recovering; sitting on the edge of the garden gulping down blessed Pure Water to restore her magic was a slightly gray-faced Constance and her pegasus. Guarding the area was a somewhat damaged magic Golem; meanwhile, a completely broken one was standing with his arms hanging limp multiple yards away where Dedue and Hugo were faithfully standing guard.

“Professor!” Constance cried; she hurriedly finished off the pure water she'd been chugging and stepped carefully between the groaning bodies to reach her, hand glowing. Linhardt must have taught her Heal on the fly so she could provide what help she could. “Here, let me help you...”

“I'll be with you in a minute, Dimitri, Felix,” Linhardt said. He sounded surprisingly alert considering how many patients he had; his hands were glowing with the light of the Crest of Cethleann as he finished sealing the gaping wound in the sniper's chest. The man gasped for breath, his eyes widening when he realized he could breath without unspeakable pain anymore. He babbled his thanks as the green-haired boy stood up, brushing off his pants.

His gloves were stained with blood. Despite this and his deep-seated fear of gore, his face was stoic and calm. “How bad is it?” He questioned, as Constance and Atra went to work getting the arrow out of Byleth's shoulder. She gritted her teeth as they worked, refusing the offer of a cloth to bite on with a muttered '_doesn't hurt that much_'.

“It's not serious, just my leg...I landed on it wrong at some point...” Dimitri explained, sitting heavily on an available chair. “Glenn and Felix are hurt too...you can tend to them first...”

“Um, you did more than just land on it wrong your highness...I'm pretty sure you stepped on burning coals one time too many,” Linhardt said bluntly, kneeling in front of him and lifting his leg up a bit. Byleth hissed furiously at the sight of her prince's blistered, bloody foot. “You need a new boot; can someone get me one...”

“How the hell did you not notice that?” Felix asked; it sounded like he was trying to sound exasperated, but instead he seemed both irritated and worried.

“I...adrenaline, I suppose,” Dimitri had the good grace to sound contrite, at least; he gave them an apologetic look.

Constance murmured “there you go,” a moment later as she finished healing Byleth's shoulder. She squeezed her hand in gratitude and straightened up, staring at the sky for a moment. She saw both Hannah, who was descending (_hopefully just to give her pegasus a chance to catch her breath..._) closer to the monastery entrance...and Seteth, who was swooping down in her direction.

She hurried out to meet him, leaving Linhardt to care for Dimitri while a Knight she didn't recognize hurried over with new boots in his arms.

“Professor,” Seteth said easily when he landed and she came to a halt by his wyvern's side. He was quite bloody, the glowing blessed lance of Cichol in his hand. Byleth took half a second to marvel at how sleek, beautiful and elegant the Saint's weapon was in comparison to the Relics; _I wonder why they look so different... _“We're holding out very well, but it can't last at this rate. The opening in our gate is allowing the Empire to make good use of their numbers even as they fight the forest fires.”

“I know.” Byleth acknowledged, wracking her brain for as she stared just past him at the broken-down golem. “We need to plug it...with something...” A plan began to blossom in her mind – a plan that made Sothis chuckle. “Something big.” She nodded meaningfully down the ruined street.

Seteth glanced over his shoulder, and his face immediately lit up with thought. “...It could work, if we're able to move it.” He said. “Dimitri, perhaps, could lift it...but we would have to get it down to the front. Which would be difficult.”

Byleth frowned for a moment, thinking furiously. Her mind strayed back to an old job that her father had lead the mercenaries on...they had to storm a minor fort on the edges of the Empire that had been overrun by bandits, and needed a way to force the gates open. What her father had come up with was... “Then we'll launch it over,” She said with a burst of inspiration, “Some of the ballistas are on wheels, right? We can spare two to be brought close together?”

Seteth blinked twice, then smiled at her. “Indeed; and two of them will have the strength to pitch it the distance we need. Aim will be key, however...”

“Find Ignatz and tell him I need his eyes; bring him back here yourself if you can!” Byleth asked, putting the Sword away at her side. “I'll coordinate the ballistas.” The older man nodded shortly and took off again. Turning around, Byleth said, “Constance, can you go up and tell Claude the plan? I don't want to surprise any of our air forces.”

“Consider it done, Professor,” The elegant young woman promised, before clicking her tongue. Her pegasus, looking refreshed after pulling his head out of a bucket of water, trotted over to her and let her saddle up. Moments later she was in the air again.

With that, Byleth nodded back at Dimitri before rushing back, heading down the roadway to the entrance of the monastery.

Mercedes was in the middle of the first road, guarded by a cadre of knights after being separated from Dedue and casing Fortify on sweeping lines of injured troops, allowing them to return to the fray instantly. She smiled bravely when Byleth ran close, running her new plan out to the man controlling it. The professor stopped by her side long enough to give her a tight hug; despite how exhausted she knew Mercie had to be, and how much she hated war, she showed no signs of defeat.

Byleth also waved to Annette, who was still on the magic ballista as she went and said the same to the ballista man on her right.

Several painfully long minutes later, the two ballistas were lined up while Dimitri dragged the massive broken golem along behind him. (_he had some help from Hugo, Balthus and Hilda who'd made their way back at some point, but it was likely he was doing most of the work) _As they scrambled all over to recalibrate the machines for their new loading, Seteth appeared, swooping down from the sky and letting Ignatz slide off his back.

The young assassin looked significantly less beat up than most of the others Byleth had seen so far; he'd been using his size and maneuverability to stay out of danger while doing what damage he could. He stared wide-eyed at the setup for a moment before biting his lip and taking a determined look as he walked around and took control of the trigger mechanisms.

Byleth watched with anxious anticipation as the ballistas shifted, lifting the golem with them. Ignatz looked up at the sky, tilting his head slightly, making a calculation in his mind.

Then he pulled the trigger.

It was amazing to watch the broken golem go flying. It was so big – and so heavy – it was a testament to how strong and well-made the ballistas were that they could fling the thing in such a high arc.

There was a bit of a hush – a moment of silence – over the battlefield as the golem flew over their heads. Then there was a ground-shaking _crash _in the distance. For a second Byleth feared they had missed, or even hit some of their own men – but then she heard a huge roar of cheers and calls of '_Glory to the goddess and her chosen!' _echoing from the front of the line; applause and taunts being thrown at the Imperial army outside the gate. They had made the shot.

Byleth slumped in relief; Sothis, meanwhile, giggled at Ignatz's stunned look as everyone around him erupted into cheers and showered praise on him.

_That's bought us some time, at least. ...But how much?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Edelgard leading the offense, who knows? We haven't seen her yet, after all...
> 
> I'm working on another set of Atra supports, will post that with the next chapter. After I finish a few of her B supports, I'll start working on Glenn's. 
> 
> Man, just writing this battle was exhausting. And I'm still not done... (stares at character list) And a bunch of characters I haven't checked in on yet. I rewatched The Two Towers to get a little more inspiration...it supercharged my muse harder than I thought it would, apparently!


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri seeks out the Death Knight and tries to ignore his growing exhaustion as the Battle for Garreg Mach rages on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (stares at computer screen) What alternate universe is this? The fight scene is flowing freely and easily while the quiet, dialogue driven project (ie the support log) is giving me such trouble? ...If you told me this would happen months ago, I would have given you such a strange look.
> 
> ...W-Well, I'll work more on the support log this evening and m-maybe finish it before I go to bed? I'll try it, at least!

The entrance was sealed, for now. The Empire soldiers within the walls were demoralized by the realization that they were cut off, but they were still fighting like demons possessing the corpses of people. What _that woman _could have done to inspire such fanaticism in them, Dimitri couldn't fathom. But that wasn't the chief concern in his mind as he dove down the broken, rubble-strewn streets, gripping his silver lance tightly as he scanned the battlefield and listened for screaming.

The Death Knight had made it past the walls, and was killing his way toward the front of the monastery where the Archbishop was – where _Byleth _was catching her breath.

He and Byleth were the only ones he truly trusted to fight that animal; he _had _to find the monster before he managed to locate any of their healers, or Ignatz, or Annette...

With all the shouting, rallying and general chaos all around, he couldn't find anyone to stop and ask if they'd seen the monster. He somewhat regretted lending his horse to the healers, even though he knew it was the only thing he could have done; he could fight on foot well enough, though the trade off was that it was harder to get around the streets...

An Empire soldier attempted to charge him. Dimitri scoffed, dodged to the side letting the sword swipe past him and slammed his fist into the man's face. The power of his crest flowed freely through his muscles; the myrmidon dropped like a rock, allowing him to move on without stopping.

There were bodies strewn all over the place...Knights and Imperials alike. The smell of smoke stung his throat, and the fires crackling both within and without the walls filled him with an intense nausea.

Dimitri was fairly certain the only reason he wasn't 'disappearing inside himself', as Bernadetta had called it, could purely be put down to his desperate, burning _need _to keep Byleth, Claude and Glenn safe...which he couldn't do drowning in the Red. Even with that keeping his head above water, the corners of his eyes were blurry and hazy, and he didn't dare look at the fires for too long lest knee-jerk panic and rage steal what little serenity he'd managed to hold onto.

A couple of the Knights of Serios were weakly trying to hold off a number of Imperial cavalry directly ahead of him; they were clearly exhausted, their armor battered and sooty. Dimitri grimaced and rushed forward, reaching the broken battalion moments after one of the cavalry cut their leader down.

The prince grabbed the lance in his free hand when the mounted knight tried to claim another victim; with a casual jerk of his shoulder, he wrenched the man clean off his horse to the ground before taking the now freed lance and stabbing one of the others. Their companion on the far left threw a javelin at him; Dimitri managed to avoid getting impaled but the blade still cut a painful scar along the upper part of his arm. Hissing in aggravation, he jumped out of the way of the man who attempted to have his horse charge him down; rolling to his feet, he grabbed a javelin off the ground and threw it at the man's back.

It hit home, but didn't knock him off of his horse; however, his sudden appearance had lifted the spirits of the Knights of Serios. Rallying what strength they had left; the youngest straightened up and stabbed the injured imperial knight in the thigh, this wound being enough to drop him from his mount. Dimitri grabbed another fallen lance off the ground and used it as a ground spike, forcing a charging horse to rear back and throw its rider into a wall.

“T-Thank you, Your Highness,” The young knight said shakily. “We've broken most of our weapons, and we're running out of steam...”

“Retreat for now,” Dimitri told them, helping one of the knights back to his feet. “Inform Lady Rhea or Lady Byleth of any new developments. Have you seen any sign of the Death Knight?”

The young knight's eyes widened. “That's right...I-I did, he's trying to carve a path through the far right to the monastery. Some of the students are trying to hold him off,” Dimitri felt his blood go cold, “but I haven't seen anything for a while.”

“Thank you,” Dimitri said in a rush before turning around and running through one of the narrow alleyways of the courtyard.

He had very little idea of where everyone was; the battlefield was constantly changing, and aside from sticking in small groups for defensive purposes, the students tended to rush off to where they were most needed. It was becoming apparent that they were perhaps the most talented soldiers on the battlefield right now; everywhere they went, they pushed back their opponents and bailed out the Knights who rushed into situations where they became overwhelmed. Fortunately he did know where a couple of people were now...at least he could expand that now, after the Death Knight was removed from consideration.

Dimitri scrambled over a pile of rubble, nearly stepping on the nearly bisected corpse of a knight. Grimacing, he stepped out into the wide-open pathway identical to the one he'd been in with Byleth and Linhardt and took in the scene that he'd been warned about...

* * *

It wasn't good. Just as he stepped in, he saw the Death Knight charge forward and bring his scythe down on Raphael; the big blonde managed to bring his gauntlets up and block the hit, but his arms shook under the impact, and the Death Knight leaned on it, forcing him to his knees with the tip of the blazing black blade digging into Raphael's shoulders. That's when Hapi appeared from around a corner on the back of her own horse, one hand raised; she cast Death at him, the malevolent spell swirling around the evil knight before digging in.

Either the man had stupendous resistance, or the spell's instant-death chance that gave it its name hadn't fully kicked in; either way, he nearly slipped off the back of his horse, loosing the pressure he'd been keeping on Raphael – allowing the boy to stand up and scramble backwards. Moments later, Yuri appeared behind him and cast Heal on his shoulder while the Death Knight rounded on Hapi.

The Death Knight raised his scythe and brought it down; a blast of magic in the shape of a blade flew out toward her. Hapi's eyes widened; she managed to turn her horse enough that she she didn't take the full brunt of the blast, but it still hit home – and hit hard enough to throw her off her horse, dropping her to the ground. Yuri cursed and vanished, a flicker of orange light tagging his intentions. Raphael called out Hapi's name in alarm as he ran forward; of course, the Death Knight's horse was faster, running down toward the girl. Hapi struggled to get up, pressing a hand against her chest as she struggled to breathe after being winded upon impact.

That's when Dimitri made his move; he grabbed a discarded javelin from the ground and ran forward a few steps, aiming and then throwing. It struck home, slamming into the Death Knight's back, digging into a chink in the armor of his left shoulder and stopping him cold just a few feet away from Hapi. Stalling him long enough for Yuri to appear, wrap his arms around his friend's shoulders, pull her to her feet and grab the reigns of her horse.

Hapi, thinking quickly through her pain, cast Banshee through gritted teeth. The blast caught the man's horse and splashed against his head, slowing him to the point where he might as well have been walking in waist-high mud. Yuri cast Heal on her, clearing up her chest, and helped her back onto her horse in one smooth movement.

Dimitri wasn't idle while this was happening; he was charging forward, rushing to the Death Knight who struggled to turn around and face his new opponent. In a spark of inspiration (_he would have to thank Claude later_) Dimitri swung his lance, aiming not at the man's body but at the reigns and straps of his horse's bridle and saddle.

The Death Knight had moved to guard his legs, and Dimitri liked to think he saw the man's one remaining eye widen beneath his helmet when he saw the tip of the silver lance's blade slice through his reigns. His horse, alarmed by the sharp point slashing so close to its eyes, reared back onto its hind legs; not having a chance to reorient himself, the Death Knight instinctively pulled on the reigns to keep himself steady. Instead the now-broken twine slipped clear of his hands and the man was pulled from his seat by gravity, toppling to the ground while his mount darted away from Dimitri; Yuri leapt out of its way to avoid getting trampled.

Dimitri turned on his heel to keep the knight in his field of vision; he tried to rush forward again, but the Death Knight was ready for him now that he knew he was there. The Scythe came up and knocked his lance aside, before slashing downward and carving into his leg.

White pain flooded Dimitri's head; he bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to force himself to focus through it. He attacked again, shifting his weight so there was less weight on his now-badly bleeding leg. The Scythe blocked again; the Death Knight pushed his feet underneath him, trying to get up as the effects of Banshee finally started to fade.

With a roar of defiance, Raphael – blood pouring down his arm from the wound in his shoulder – stormed forward and slammed his gauntlet into the back of the Death Knight's head. The man jerked and nearly fell on his face, catching himself and rolling out of the way when Dimitri brought his lance down so the blade slammed into the dirt instead of his neck. The Knight – Jeritza, it was Jeritza, the man had always unnerved him a bit but he wouldn't have suspected him of being _this_ – stood up and spun around, anticipating Yuri appearing behind him for an attempted backstabbing.

He brought his Scythe down on Yuri, who managed to partially block it with his sword only for the curve of the blade to allow Jeritza to catch him in the back, dragging a nasty scar across his flesh as the older man pulled the weapon back. Yuri cussed in a foreign language and teleported from beneath the weapon, reappearing several feet away and casting Aura without missing a beat despite the pain he was in. (_Dimitri felt his respect for the other boy rise once again_)

The spell was powerful, so although Yuri wasn't as powerful as Lysithea or Byleth, the white magic spell slammed into Jeritza with significant force. The man stumbled backwards with a grunt, his armor singed and _melted _in place, yet he still stood and brought the scythe up to face them. _What the hell is this man made of?” _Dimitri wondering, blinking rapidly to center his vision – it was blurring a bit thanks to the bleeding from his legs. _We have to finish this-_

A swirl of dark magic formed around Jeritza again; a pair of red eyes flashed, and then the spell hit home. Jeritza shouted in pain as his shoulder armor disintegrated and black patches appeared on his skin, oozing blood and a green liquid that made Dimitri's stomach turn over. Hapi was leaning forward on her horse, her expression set in determination, “Nighty night,” She said with a serenity that didn't match the look in her eyes, before she snapped her fingers again.

Jeritza brought both his arms up to defend himself; Miasma struck true, disintegrating his arm guards and leaving him open for Raphael who leapt at his side and unleashed a blinding flurry of punches reinforced by his silver gauntlets; the impacts knocked Jeritza to the ground, knocking his helmet off and revealing his silver-white hair which now had stains of blood in patches on it.

“Everyone!” Mercedes's voice caught Dimitri's ear as he prepared to try and finish the monster off; he glanced up to see her rushing through the alleyway he himself had emerged from. She'd lost her hair tie at some point – in fact, it looked like someone had cut her hair with a sword; there was some blood on her collar, the long locks of her silver hair falling around her shoulders and face like a curtain-

-wait a moment-

His mind must have been foggy thanks to the blood loss. As the Death Knight helmet split in half from the abuse it had taken over the past few hours and fell apart, Jeritza's face was exposed for all of them to see. The man turned his head and saw Mercedes with a pair of blue eyes (_which was strange because weren't his eyes blood red even before he revealed himself as the Death Knight-?_) that slowly widened as he focused on her. He seemed to forget all about the other students surrounding him; he reached out in her direction, mouthing out '_Mercedes?_'. Suddenly, this terrible killer looked more like a lost child desperately seeking solace or salvation.

Mercedes's mouth fell open a bit in shock; her eyes latched onto him and his face, after frantically bouncing all over her friends to take tabs on their injuries. “Emile?” She asked weakly, somehow audible above the chaos. Even amist her obvious shock, her hands were pressed together and a ball of healing magic blipped into existence over them. Fortify.

“Mercedes...” The strange echo/distortion that characterized the Death Knight's voice suddenly disappeared.

Mercedes then raised her hands and cast Fortify. Dimitri let out a gasp of relief as the pain in his leg melted away and his head stopped spinning from blood loss. Raphael rolled his shoulder in relief, and Yuri darted forward in hopes of finishing Jeritza off-

-but wasn't quite fast enough to prevent the Death Knight from suddenly giving up the fight and teleporting away. Rewarp, Atra had called the spell. Dimitri cursed whomever had invented the spell and sent a silent prayer to Sothis that he wouldn't be able to rejoin the battle.

“Hery Mercie, what was that?” Hapi asked, her horse trotting over to the healer's side. “Nice save, by the way, I'm very grateful...but do you know that guy?”

It was hard to tell thanks to the soot on her face and the fact that the sun was dipping toward the horizon on the far side of her face, but Dimitri thought that Mercedes looked quite pale. “I...I thought I recognized him for a moment – but is it really possible?” She wondered, speaking as much to herself as Hapi.

_Why do they have the same face? _Dimitri wondered.

“I dunno, but maybe we can worry about that later?” Hapi suggested, offering Mercedes her hand. “The front half of the monastery courtyard is basically secure, but that broken golem isn't going to keep out the Empire forever. We should go down and rejoin the others.”

As if to punctuate her words, there was a massive flash of golden light further down the courtyard, joined by a crack of thunder and the sound of stone shattering. Byleth was back in the fight, and Dimitri needed to be where she was. Where Claude would be, if the skies were finally under their control... The prince glanced upward; there were far less pegasi the skies now – once they were able to wholly focus on them instead of having to aim carefully throughout the grounds, the ballistas provided excellent support to the church's fliers. Briefly he saw a white wyvern fly down toward the front.

“R-Right,” Mercedes said, with the air of someone forcing herself to refocus. She accepted Hapi's offer and was pulled up onto the back of her horse.

Yuri walked over to Raphael, one eyebrow raised. “How you doing, big guy?” He asked casually.

“I'm good to go,” The blonde promised. He was taking deep, slow breaths, running one hand through his sweat-soaked bangs to push them away from his eyes. “I'm just...kinda tired. Mercedes just gave me a pick-me up.”

“Yeah, well it's not just you.” Yuri assured him, wryly pressing a few fingers against his chest. “Unfortunately we can't sit down just yet.”

“Hurry up, slowpokes! We'll be needed!” Hapi said chidingly before clicking her heels against her horse's flanks. Nickering, the stallion shot ahead, carrying the two girls toward the front lines. Expelling a long breath and pressing his foot against the ground – putting extra weight on it just to make sure that his balance was fully restored – Dimitri started to walk forward too. He grabbed the bloodstained javelin off the ground and retrieved a few arrows that were scattered over the grass to refill his dwindling quiver.

“How are _you _holding up, your highness?” Yuri appeared on his right, startling him and nearly causing him to go for his lance. The blonde gave the trickster a disapproving look, to which his friend apologetically raised his hands. “I'm sorry, but you can forgive me for being worried, right?”

Dimitri shut his eyes for a second before opening them again and starting to jog down the long pathway toward the front lines, Yuri and Raphael at his side. There was more rubble and increasingly more corpses as they made their way forward; knights lay dead and scattered, many bodies trampled. Imperial corpses were stacked in piles in front of what had once been makeshift fortifications; no matter where you looked, it was almost impossible to get away from them. Once they got clear of most of the buildings into the yard that had once been the road of commerce, Dimitri could clearly see the walls and a bit beyond...the fires that had been raging out of control for hours now had dampened down significantly.

Claude and Constance had bought them precious time, and it was impossible to tell from where he stood how much damage the wildfires had done to the army outside the gates...but they were far from done. He could still hear shouting and jeers outside the walls.

He could hear people calling _that witch's _name. Calling for her to break through and lead them to victory. He snarled low in his throat and pushed onward, having long since gone numb to the smell of smoke and the dead.

He passed by Flayn, who was standing and praying in the middle of a massive circle of injured people...including Marianne, Ashe, Sylvain and Leonie, he noted with a violent jolt of concern. The redhead had a black eye and was bleeding badly from a head wound; Leonie had blood covering her arm which was wrapped in a hasty makeshift sling. Marianne had worrying torn sleeves, blood splashed on her face and a distressed expression; Ashe was trading away his broken bow for a replacement, soot and ash turning his silver hair black and his gloves having holes torn in them. Moments later, Flayn spread her hands and Fortify spread across all of the people around her, the Crest of Cethleann glowing above her head. All those wounds healed before Dimitri's eyes; he marveled at the sight and listened to the ragged cheers of relief from those who'd stumbled close to death's door.

_She's like the saint reborn...how long has she been here, in the thick of it, healing without rest? _Judging by the blood splattered across her robes and the various small bandages she was wearing, it had been a long time. But there was nothing but resolution in the kind girl's face; she waved her hands over her head, calling for more wounded while a relieved Leonie unbound her arm, bending it slowly and tentatively just to be safe.

“Dimitri!” The blonde had never been so happy to hear Sylvain's voice; his childhood friend hurried over, clutching the reigns of his horse; when he stopped, he scrubbed furiously at his face to rub the blood from his eyes. “Man am I glad to see you...where's everyone else?”

“Glad to see you too,” Dimitri said in relief, taking a moment to wrap an arm around Sylvain's shoulder and pull him into a quick but tight hug. “Speaking for the Blue Lions...Dedue, Felix, and Glenn were somewhere behind me a few minutes ago, Ingrid is up in the air, Annette is still manning one of the ballistas-”

“We're here now!” Annette's voice interrupted him; the students all turned around to find Bernadetta riding toward them with Annette perched on horseback behind her; Felix, Glenn and Dedue were following closely behind. Glenn trotted to a stop, grabbing Sylvain in a one-armed hug and quickly scanning him for injuries before looking up at the sky. “Byleth told us to go ahead before she went charging off to try and make sure the makeshift gate holds just a little longer.”

“She's terrifyingly powerful now...” Bernadetta said in equal parts reverence and fear. “This is what absorbing Sothis's heart did to her? Does – does this mean the Professor is a goddess now?”

For the life of him, Dimitri didn't have an answer to that – even his knee-jerk reaction, born of being raised the heir of the Holy Kingdom was utterly muted.

“She's still Teach, no matter what. She hasn't changed a bit otherwise.” A wonderfully familiar, if very tired-sounding, voice echoed from behind them.

* * *

Dimitri spun around, his eyes settling on Claude's face. His star was covered in blood splatters all over his clothes, grime and sweat slicking his hair to his head, and unless his eyes were deceiving him his hands were trembling a bit. Ivory nudged her rider lightly with her nose, looking a little ragged herself; there were burn scars and soot on her sides and on one of her wings. Approaching from behind him were a dizzy-looking Lysithea, who was leaning on her pegasus while accepting a Pure Water booster from Constance while Ingrid picked her way across the dirt toward him and Glenn, worry in her eyes still somehow predominant over the exhaustion in her eyes.

Claude swiped at his eyes and called tiredly, “Mercedes, might we benefit from your brilliant magic for a moment?”

“I'm coming,” Mercedes promised, darting forward as magic swirled around her hands. Dimitri noted distractedly that she was starting to look a little pale in the face...which wasn't a good sign. “I'm here for you...” She raised her hands and cast over the four flyers and their mounts, healing any lingering injuries inflicted on both human and beast. Ivory chirped in delight as the magic sank into her scales, shaking like a dog that had just stepped out of a river.

Dimitri, who'd been all but vibrating on the spot since he and Claude had locked eyes, waited just long enough for the magic to run its course before lunging forward and wrapping his arms around his star to embrace him tightly. Claude returned the gesture with only half-a-second of hesitation, regardless of the fact that they were surrounded by their friends – if that didn't accentuate the dire nature of this situation, nothing would.

“Are you okay?” Dimitri asked, his voice cracking. He pulled back just enough to stare in dismay at the sheer amount of blood staining Claude's clothes.

The hidden prince had the nerve to smile at him. “It looks a lot worse than it is,” He said lightly. “Major Crest of Riegan, remember?” They drew as much strength from the embrace as they could in a few seconds before parting; Claude looked down at his leg and frowned. “What the hell happened to your leg?”

“The Death Knight,” Yuri deadpanned, looking between them with an alarmingly knowing expression on his face. “He also happened to my back, incidentally. Lucky for us Mercedes decided to come and check on us.”

Sylvain neglected to remark on that in favor of staring at Dimitri, his eyes occasionally flickering over to Claude. Something seemed to click in his head and his mouth dropped open. Fortunately, the brunette noticed this, caught the other boy's attention, and very sincerely mouthed out '_don't you dare_' with a glacially calm expression on his face. Sylvain nodded dumbly, making absolutely no effort to close his mouth as he went back to staring at Dimitri.

“Hey!” Balthus called out, rushing over to their side with Hilda and belatedly Ignatz at his heels. “Wow, you guys look awful.”

“No, you're just way too cheerful,” Claude grumbled good-naturedly. Lysithea muttered something under her breath and started to re-mount her pegasus, which was stomping its hooves in worry. “How are you not exhausted?”

“Because I divided my time between holding a defensive position and forging on ahead?” Balthus offered, looking sincerely bemused.

“Oh, screw you; I'm a cavalry bow wielder. I'm _supposed _to charge on ahead, or backward, or where-ever I'm needed at top speed.” Leonie grumbled, accepting a handful of replacement arrows for her quiver from a Knight who'd come up to her. She then handed off a broken lance and a broken javelin off to him, looking disgruntled.

“What's the situation out front?” Annette asked anxiously, rubbing her hands together. There were noticeable burn scars on her hands; a consequence of manning a magic ballista for hours, no doubt. She didn't look pained, however, so she must have been mostly healed. “Are we holding?”

“For now,” Sylvain said; he looked solemn. “The problem is that doesn't mean much with how big the damned army out there is. We've been fighting tooth and nail, and Ede – The Emperor still has who-knows-how-many troops to throw at us.”

“Didn't the fires do _something _about that?” Ashe protested, looking pale.

“No, it did,” Claude responded seriously. “The Emperor lost a good number of people, and far more importantly _equipment_, in the blazes. Many of the soldiers survived, but _their supply trains didn't_. That means they can't afford to sit outside, sending the occasional wave of men at us while starving us out. Hell, she has to put serious consideration into how her men are meant to get back over the Ohgma Mountains with the supplies that survived.” He grimaced. “Though knowing that Edelgard prefers to claim victory at any cost, it might not be the morale-breaker I was hoping for...”

“Edie – I mean, Edelgard – will fight to take the monastery unless there's a significant sign that it's not possible,” Dorothea lamented. The beautiful songstress, covered in grunge, blood and soot, looked like she had spent some time crying. Linhardt walked up behind her and placed an awkward hand on her shoulder. “She thinks she must, or else the lives sacrificed to claim it would be rendered meaningless.”

Something cold and unpleasant crawled up Dimitri's spine. _That sounds familiar, _one of his ghosts muttered dryly; he furiously shook his head to drive them away. That wasn't true!

“We don't have a huge amount of daylight left...” Lysithea noted, looking up at the sky. It wasn't quite sunset, but the evening was marching onward. “Would the Empire stop when the last light of day dies, or would they simply light torches and keep going?”

“It's hard to tell,” Claude muttered. “The Imperials have to rest some time; they're still human. But the Emperor still has the luxury of switching in lines of fresh-faced soldiers who haven't seen combat yet – to say nothing of the non-human elements of the army. We can't do that; the church simply didn't have enough allies within arms reach.”

“We're tired,” Marianne said quietly. Dimitri knew a prognosis when he heard one, and knew he wasn't the only one grimacing at the admission. “All of us. Our Professor is still going strong, but she's still mortal...so she'll get tired eventually. Perhaps that's what the Emperor is aiming for? Waiting for us to fight until we're too weak to stand?”

“If that's true, we need to change the terms of the battlefield,” Yuri said adamantly. He didn't have to glance back over his shoulder for Dimitri to know that he was fearing for his people, fled into the woods of the Sealed Forest. “I'd volunteer to cut off the beast's head, but I'm not sure I can get to her – even with my crest and my relic, to get into the middle of that army and then get out...that's a dicey proposition.”

“You'd need a distraction...and something tough enough to cut through her armor,” Claude acknowledged; his brow furrowed. “She does prefer to fight on the front lines...honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't come out on the offensive yet.”

There was another great explosion of golden light, the sound of demonic beasts screaming in denial of reality until they disintegrated under the goddess's granted power, and a ragged cheer going up from the defenders still standing at the front lines.

“That sounds like a few more minutes being bought for us to strategize,” Yuri said thoughtfully. Then he made a face. “Can anyone find me an armorslayer? There's got to be one out here somewhere.”

“Never mind that,” Bernadetta said, bringing her horse over to him. She fumbled with something at her waist and pulled one of her two swords, sheathe and all, from her belt buckle and handed it down to him. “T-This will be lighter, a-and serve the same purpose, i-if you can get close enough to her.”

Yuri blinked twice and unsheathed the blade. The bloodstained blade of a rapier glistened in the late evening sunlight; he smiled wryly up at her. “You're okay going without this?”

“I-I'll manage. I still have one,” Bernadetta patted the hilt of her specialized killing edge – no, this style of blade was called a Wo Do, right? “Plus my bow. But if you're going to f-fight,” her expression twisted with pain for a moment, before soldiering onward, “t-take out E-Edelgard, you'll need it.”

“We defeated one of the army's generals a while ago,” Felix mused. “He should have made it back to his master with his tail between his legs by now. Will she come to us now, or will she just throw more underlings at us?”

“Where's Atra?” Constance asked in puzzlement, looking around the group.

“She's sticking close to Teach,” Claude responded. “In order to guard her from the Agarthans unquestionably in this strike force.” He grimaced, brow furrowing in frustration. “I've seen...maybe a handful of enemies I think were from that city? Not nearly as many as I expected. My best guess is that she's holding them back, but _who_ for if not Teach? She's been single-handedly holding various lines for hours now.”

“Mmm, from what I've seen, the Emperor is more on the pragmatic side.” Yuri mused. “She's holding them back for someone she doesn't think she can defeat without them otherwise. As to who that could be..” He frowned. “Maybe it is the Professor, but she wants to lure her out of the monastery? The legends talk about how Nemesis lead from the front, smashing through entire armies like a living avalanche. Perhaps she assumes that now that Byleth is essentially the King reborn, she'll take on a similar tact.”

“That's a big assumption to waste waves of troops on.” Claude noted, though Dimitri could see that he was considering the idea.

_Of course she'd do it. She doesn't value human lives at all, only her vision, _his father said scathingly.

“...Is Byleth strong enough to fight the troops outside the walls, if she is willing to act as Yuri's distraction?” Ashe asked hesitantly. “We'd be able to provide her a little support, and if it brings Edelgard closer-”

* * *

The rest of his question was cut off by war horns.

Very familiar war horns.

Dimitri felt his heart jump up in his chest. Spinning around, ignoring the gasps rising from everyone around him, he ran to the nearest two-story house and began to climb the crumbling wall. He cut his hand on glass but barely noticed; he made his way up to the top and scrambled up on top of the battered but still-solid rooftop and stood up straight. It was enough to see over the walls, and the sun illuminated the grasslands ahead of him.

The sight brought tears to the edges of his eyes.

The war horns of Faerghus blew again, waves of blue and silver clad troops emerging from over the horizon under the banners of Fraldarius, Gautier and the Royal Crest. There were pegasus knights in the air, lines of cavalry and infantry marching in step toward the heart of their faith and the place where their heirs were trapped in a desperate battle. Before he could even really, truly take this in, a horn of a different land and a different tone rang out from far behind the giant mass of Empire troops.

Dimitri felt the disbelieving smile split his face as the golden banner of the Alliance emerged from the forest, followed by a massive horde of soldiers marching in several different blocks. One, the leaders, held the standard of House Goneril; marching side by side with them was a group with the symbol of House Riegan on all of their flags. Behind them were the signs of Gloucester and Edmund, and Daphnel as well. And as they emerged from the forest... they split off, a group bearing each banner at their head taking off to the right and tearing across the grass that was now bathed in golden-orange-red light.

As Dimitri watched, they approached the front of the Kingdom troops, one holding something over his head. Moments later, they slowed and met with a couple of soldiers who had stepped out of the Fraldarius ranks. If Edelgard knew and understood what this meant...well, all the ghosts lingering around him were laughing raucously and wishing they could see her face.

Their reinforcements had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pleasant announcer voice) 
> 
> We have now left canon station. Please make yourself comfortable and remember that we will not be stopping for some time. Refreshments will be coming around once we cross the mountains; thank you for choosing this rail line and we hope you enjoy the ride!
> 
> (somewhat serious voice)
> 
> Oh god, I'm leaving canon, I really hope I can pull this off...!


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude takes change in the air and sees something stunning.

Khalid knew he was grinning uncontrollably, but he couldn't help it. Besides, everyone else was cheering at the top of their lungs, so none of them had the right to judge him anyway.

“Hey Hannah!” He called out to the 'pegasus princess'; she immediately trotted over on the back of her pegasus and raised one eyebrow. “Find Seteth, then Lady Rhea, and tell them the good news! She can afford to send Catherine and Shamir down now to lend a hand. Everyone, let's go reinforce the breach area! We wouldn't want to let anyone else through now!”

Hannah nodded, smiling at at him, and took off admist the roaring of renewed spirit and determination from seemingly every area of the courtyard. Khalid patted Ivory's neck and then swung up onto her back again, sliding a freshly refilled quiver onto his back.

There was one final horn blast from outside the monastery – two horns of two different kingdoms blaring out in unison. Then the thunder of hundreds of horses and the wingbeats of peagsi and wyvern alike – such a familiar sound from his days growing up! - echoed across the fields like the thunder of a massive avalanche; their families and their people come to their rescue.

“Don't let your guard down!” He made sure to yell over the noise. “The Empire will fight harder than ever now that they're the ones fighting a loosing battle! Rally to Byleth! Rally to the one chosen by Sothis!”

He almost didn't say the second sentence – but the way all of the knights around them, even those who had become exhausted, despondent, and were close to giving up, all surged to their feet and began rushing down the main road toward the entrance where Byleth and Atra were fighting. _Gramps would be proud, _he thought bemusedly. _I really hope I haven't pissed her off, reinforcing their divine vision of her – oh, who am I kidding; I'm sleeping on the floor for a week and I know it..._

Somehow that didn't feel quite as disheartening as it would have otherwise. _It means we still have that week ahead of us, after all! _

Urging Ivory off the ground, he flew in a quick circle over to the roof Dimitri was standing on and offered him a hand, still grinning. His prince had tears in his eyes; he couldn't have that, could he? “You want to stay here and admire the scenery? Or do you still have enough energy to help?” He asked as teasingly as he could manage over the lump in his throat.

Honestly, he hadn't expected the reinforcements to arrive so soon. He'd braced himself to the likelihood of having to stave off days, even possibly weeks under a brutal siege before any relief force reached them. _Gramps..._

Dimitri laughed weakly. “Only you could make jokes at a time like this...!” Glancing down nervously for only a moment, he accepted Claude's hand and after a second jumped off the rafters and into the brunette's waiting arms. Wincing a bit, Khalid swung him onto the saddle in front of him and wrapped one arm around his waist. This was slightly more precarious given that he needed both his hands to use his bow. _Can't take him very far, then. Just up to the front. _

“Hang on,” Claude warned him airily before whistling to Ivory. She shot forward like an arrow; Dimitri flinching and pressing back against his chest at the force of the wind. They shot across the grounds, outpacing the wave of knights and even the others as they ran forward to reach Byleth.

The devastation at the front of the courtyard, there at the mouth of the entrance...it was harsh. Even compared to the rest of the area. Corpses were stacked in literal bonfire piles; the stench of death was overwhelming, heavy enough to make Khalid's stomach try to stage a revolt. Ballista bolts were embedded in the ground and in the buildings; great piles of ash and bone left behind by demonic beasts after they disintegrated lay in heaps seemingly within every twenty feet. The ruined golem that had bought them that precious hour of defense had been split in half and blown away, leaving the wide opening into the monastery...that none of the Imperials were taking advantage of, with a massive trench having been carved into the earth out for over a dozen yards.

Standing in the mouth of the exit, staring in awe out at the field, was a bloody and soot-covered Atra who was still wrenching her sword out of an extremely pale corpse. Next to her, the late evening light making her hair gleam like liquid jewels in spite of the bloodstains covering her, was Byleth, Sword of the Creator in hand.

Both girls spun around when Ivory trilled excitedly. Byleth, her eyes carrying heavy shadows, nevertheless tilted her head up and beamed when Claude brought his partner down next to her. Dimitri slid off the wyvern and immediately cradled Byleth's face in his hands. “Are you hurt?” He asked worriedly. “Do you need to rest?”

Byleth shook her head while Atra watched with a very faint smile. “No, I can make it. With the Kingdom and the Alliance, we can win this – but we have to get out there.”

“Wait, you want to _what_?” Khalid repeated, leaning forward a bit just to make sure he hadn't misunderstood her.

“No, she's right!” Felix interrupted; Khalid glanced back and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the grumpy swordsman sitting behind Bernadetta on the back of her horse. “The Empire can draw with the combined forces of our home, but if you can hit their flanks with our support, they'll break!”

Byleth looked up at Claude, a mixture of sadness and determination in her eyes. “We're no use to them staying in here,” she said simply. “Edelgard has no choice but to turn her army to face the Kingdom and the Alliance, or else they'll smash through her lines. At best, she can leave Hubert and a few battalions to annoy us – nothing our Relics couldn't contend with.” She shook her head. “But that doesn't account for the Agarthan assistance she's been holding back. Whether that's more demonic beasts or a spell similar to the one Solon intended to use on me before Yuri cut him off-” The violet-eyed teen smirked a bit at the description. “-and our allies aren't fully prepared for it. We haven't really been able to elaborate in letters, after all.”

Khalid rolled that thought over in his mind, and nodded after a moment. The words made perfect sense; now, how could he make it work? He had to think quickly, too – their allies were already charging towards the Empire.

“What do we have on our hands to make a smokescreen?” He called, throwing his voice so the knights around him, including an approaching Cyril, Catherine and Shamir (_that was weird, why had they left Rhea's side? Where is Rhea right now?_) can all hear him. “It doesn't have to last long – it's best if it only lasts a minute or two – it just has to be big and flashy. Quickly, people, quickly!”

Half a dozen knights instantly scramble to obey him; after hours of battle, this no longer makes his head spin. Instead he shoves the tiny voice that sounds like a ten-year-old him squeaking and freaking out into a box in the back of his mind and points out through the door. “Load it up on the nearest ballista and aim for above and in front of the Empire lines facing us as best you can! Knights, form up behind Catherine and Shamir! Lions, Deer, form up battalions around Sylvain and Hilda! You two, relics up – you're leading the charge behind Teach and I.”

“Lysithea!” The white haired girl had prepared to take off, only to stop when Lorenz called her name. Turning in surprise, she gaped when he offered her a long, twisted staff that glowed with gold except for the red stone embedded in it. Claude blinked – _he hadn't recalled Lorenz bragging that his father had entrusted him with the family relic, when did that happen? _\- and was even more surprised when the purple-haired noble solemnly said, “From the sky, you can make better use of it than me right now.”

There was _something _in his expression – and something that flickered across Lysithea's face – that suggested they'd had a significant conversation that Claude had not been privy too. But it was gone in a blink (_Lysithea really was good at pushing her emotions down when she wanted to, why was that?_), Lysithea nodding solemnly and quietly said “Thanks Lorenz.”

Atra stepped over to Byleth's side; his Teach glanced at her and asked, “Are you sure you don't want to stay back with the others? The kickback from the sword is pretty intense.”

“I promised I'd protect you...my best hope for Agartha's defeat, and the person who took me in despite knowing what I've done.” Atra responded, shaking her head. She stuck one sword in the ground just long enough to tighten the ponytail that had been threatening to come loose. “You're not going in to fight that army without me at your back.”

That fearless declaration of protection got a cheer and number of backpats from the knights who were on their way to fall in line. Atra, as ever, looked dumbfounded by the positive reinforcement.

“Ballistas are loaded, Lord Riegan!” One of the knights yelled. Claude looked around in confusion for a second before realizing that, given there was no way his over-seventy-year-old grandfather was either on this battlefield or close enough to be shouted at, _he _was Lord Riegan.

For a moment, he indulged in a sinking feeling comparable to the inexorable pull of gravity before pointedly banishing it.

Through the wall, he could see the banners of his mother's family crash into the lines of the Empire – leading from the front, just as they had when his ancestor succeeded from the Kingdom. He set his jaw and allowed himself once glance over his shoulder at Dimitri, standing side by side with Sylvain, before looking forward and snapping “FIRE!”

Two different ballistas _crack _as they fire their newest payload; Khalid hit his heels against Ivory's side as hard as he could and shouted “FORWARD!” while sending a silent prayer to Sothis and Asch both that he hadn't just made a mistake.

(_He hadn't prayed for anything in a long, long time, because when had they ever answered him – but Sothis cared enough to embrace him and to give her heart to Teach so they could win, so maybe just this once-_)

Ivory shot up and over the main gate before his fears have a chance to raise their voices. She's flying fast enough that they're in the air and yards away from the main gate when he sees the impromptu smokescreen detonate, covering the line of mages that had been facing them and a huge number of the men behind them too. His chest loosens the tiniest bit, because that worked better than he had hoped to – poisons thrown together in a handful of seconds don't have a good track record in his experience. Maybe that was the last of their luck; now they had to make it the rest of the way on guts, glory and determination.

_Father is going to sulk over missing this. Meanwhile, if this doesn't kill me, mom just might. _

Khalid urged Ivory up, had her follow after Maea and Lysithea as the black bolt flew high up and up – just out of ballista range. Normally, this would render it fairly impossible to hit anything...but Lorenz had given her his heroes relic.

The Thyrsus staff wasn't as flashy as the weapon Relics; a novice knight might call it less useful by comparison. However, anyone who had ever relied on a sniper would be glad to tell them how wrong they were. Thyrsus shared a commonality with Failnaught in that it allowed the wielder to see far further than human eyes would allow; stories abounded about Gloucester heirs picking off enemy lords from a mountaintop miles away from what might have been the battlefield or the Riegan lords sniping through snowstorms so thick you struggled to see your hand right in front of your face. The other perk was boosted power – which Lysithea already had in abundance.

“Now, where are those Demonic Beasts...” The white haired girl growled.

Claude was about to say something when the answer presented itself; pools of purple and black light bloomed within the ranks behind the battalions now locked in frantic conflict with the Kingdom and the Empire. “Someone's spooked...” He mused. “But who?” _And how can I pressure them more?_ “Constance, be a dear and lend Lysithea a hand, will you?”

“As you wish,” Constance responded, one hand raised. Lysithea smirked and pointed Thyrsus downward.

Bolting and Seraphim blasted straight down like twin pillars of divine retribution, surgically smashing into the dark pools below where the Demonic Beasts were forming. Khalid flew in a circle around them as the two women flew a few feet away from their previous positions and fired again; he dropped a few dozen feet below them, grabbed a heavy chunk of stone from the saddlebag hanging around Ivory's shoulders and dropped it, aiming for a caravan directly below him. The stone wasn't too large, but it was heavy and the speed with which it fell would make up for the lack of sides in spades. _Not nearly as flashy by comparison, but it helps me contribute!_

As Lysithea rained down another Seraphim Khalid glanced back, looking for Byleth.

The smokescreen had come in clutch; he found her just moments before a massive and now-familiar blaze of golden light tore through that gray haze and into the ground a mere yard from the imperial army. His gaze was slightly skewed by the height and angle he was looking from, but he was sure the shockwave literally picked up the entire front line facing the ragtag defenders of the monastery and blew them away like a hurricane wind. Rocks and dislodged earth sprayed everywhere, crashing into ballistics and train cars alike; twin blazes of white gold light lit up at the front of both columns following Byleth as Sylvain and Hilda crashed into the now disoriented rear guard at Byleth's heels.

“May my foes some day forgive me,” Constance murmured – as much to herself as anyone else, her voice almost inaudible among the wind and the chaos below. Then she snapped her fingers, her crest blazing and unleashing another Bolting down upon the Demonic Beasts alone.

The smoke that had been semi-hiding them had dissipated under the assault; not far north of them, the Galetea Pegasus divisions were engaging a large chunk of the remaining Imperial air force. He could also see both the Gautier and Gloucester cavalry charges bursting through the lines in a vicious looking pincer attack, while Daphnel forces – was Judith down there? – seemed to be pulling the hit-and-run tactics that famed hero had used against the Almyran incursion years ago. The Faerghus Crown forces seemed to be trying to create an opening in the middle of the imperial army, albiet with slow success – the Riegan troops seemed to be moving to assist them directly. The Ordelia mages were standing behind allied lines, raining fire and lightning down from a safe distance.

_You're being hammered from all sides, Edelgard. Whatever your secret weapon is, you can't afford to keep holding it back – where is it? _

Khalid heard the neighs of the flying battalion approaching them before he saw them; drawing two arrows and urging Ivory towards the sound. “Keep it up, watch out for any signs of Agarthan magic!” He warned his flying artillery. “I'll keep you covered!”

When their newest enemy came into focus, he was flanked by Hannah on his right and Seteth on his left. “You mean -we'll- keep them covered,” The older bishop said solemnly. Khalid favored him with a smile before quickly refocusing.

It was a smaller than usual battalion – probably a sign that they'd been assembled and sent skyward in a hurry. Nevertheless, it was a _wyvern _platoon, so it wasn't as though they weren't taking him seriously. Especially considering the woman leading the charge...she was decked out in very ornate armor, her chest plate glittering with medals, and she gave him a look of fanatical scorn.

“My life was changed forever by Her Majesty,” She proclaimed, pointing her ax directly at him. Not at Seteth, Rhea's right hand man; not Hannah, an old member of a storied and feared mercenary group. She was absolutely focused on _him_. “Now, I lay it on the line. For the Empire!”

Khalid didn't dignify that with a verbal response, as tempting as it was. Instead he just felt significant unease – not that he had time to dwell on it. He pulled on Ivory's reigns and had her shoot straight up, neatly avoiding the woman's charge and turning to fire down at her.

The other knights behind her had surged forward; Seteth impaled one on the Spear of Assul and threw a hand ax at another's back, hitting her right between the shoulders despite the speed at which she'd been flying. She dropped from her mount while Hannah flew up over her pegasus, throwing a javelin that impaled another who had had designs on Lysithea – who was still raining hell down on the various demonic beasts below, pounding them into dust and ash.

Khalid fired his first volley at the general. She dodged, which was annoying but not unexpected; she pulled a very shark bank and flew straight at them. Ivory folded her wings and _dropped, _free-fall, for half a dozen yards before snapping them out again, beginning an aileron role. Claude grabbed two more arrows and, in the seconds that he spent upside-down, fired up at the wyvern above him – right at the vulnerable stomach. A screech suggested he hit – he couldn't really see as Ivory righted the two of them again and the blood had to rush back out of his head again – and he quickly drew again, turning Ivory on the spot.

“There can be little hope of victory unless you are defeated,” The woman shouted as she angled her mount down toward him. “So be it, Riegan!”

“You still think you can win?” Claude asked incredulously, leaning forward as Ivory dodged her enemy again. The winds whipped against his face from how close the woman had gotten to him; he could see the flash of silver glancing off her ax. “Have you looked down recently?”

“Her Majesty is the hope for Fodlan's future! She will succeed, it is inevitable!” The woman retorted furiously; she banked hard to avoid another hail of arrows from him.

“You've got to be kidding me...” Were they still not going to break, even with Teach pushing into the back lines and the Kingdom and Alliance catching them in a terrible pincer attack? They weren't prepared for this kind of fight, only a siege – even with the sheer number of demonic beasts spawning, how did she still think Edelgard could win this fight?

_...I have to take Edelgard out of the fight, somehow. If they can maintain morale as long as she's leading the charge... _Khalid grimaced as he drew and fired again. _Which means I'm gonna have to **find **her in that sea of enemies down there. Asch, bind my will to yours..._

Ivory snarled, tossing her head back. Khalid grinned – understanding immediately. “Let's go, girl.”

With Seteth's shout from behind him ringing in his ears '_you shall not survive!'_ as he took out whoever had tried to sneak up on him, he let his white mount launch herself directly at the woman's wyvern. Ivory flew with the speed of a ballistic missile, putting all her muscles into it, and swung back so all four of her legs were aimed at the enemy's neck and chest, claws bared. Claude didn't get a chance to see the woman general's expression when they slammed into her and her mount, but he didn't doubt she would have cursed him out if she hadn't nearly been thrown from her saddle by the impact. Ivory sank her claws into and _through_ the leather and iron armor protecting the wyvern's neck and chest, tearing at his scales and into the soft flesh below; not wanting to make her do all the work, Claude twisted his body so he was aiming his Brave Bow just over Ivory's shoulder at the wing joint of their opponent, gritted his teeth and _fired_.

The two arrows struck true; Ivory let out a howl of triumph before flinging her bleeding and beaten opponent below her. Khalid grinned dizzily through his vertigo as he watched the general fall for yards, her wyvern jerkily catching himself and managing to slow their descent every dozen or so yards. He couldn't keep flying and carrying her – not with his wing injured like that – so he was making his way to the ground. _I can't afford to die; not here, not now. I have to fight for Byleth, for Dimitri...for my friends and for Fodlan. _

Realizing that he sounded a lot like the Claude who starred in his mother's favorite fable...he might be a little resigned to it at that point. _Some heartless schemer I ended up making, huh? _

Then he directed Ivory upward, catching another enemy pegasus knight in his cross-hairs and firing. She fell with a scream.

A distant part of his brain wondered how many people he had killed today. A sick feeling pooled in his stomach when no number would present itself in his mind. _I know I have no choice, but..._

“What's going on down there, Lysithea?! Constance?!” He yelled, pulling up level with them.

“We're thinning out the demonic beasts!” The white haired girl cheered, waving Thyrsus over her head. “I might actually refrain from making fun of Lorenz's attempts at finding a bride if he lets me borrow this again!”

“Our Professor has made the flank collapse inward,” Constance added. “Perhaps she has forced Vestra to retreat...though obviously I cannot say that for certain from this height...”

_We're doing it. We're actually doing it. _

That's when he saw the massive disk of dark light.

* * *

The magic Claude saw in that moment...almost defied description. Which meant it was almost certainly Agarthan made, and _certainly _aimed at Teach – at Byleth.

It looked like a massive black scar in the sky...a scar that was bleeding black blood tendrils, spooling out of it like many, many strings. The black magic was threaded with a sickly-looking purple thread, and he could have sworn that there was a strong current of wind going _into _the scar. As he watched from his vantage point, he saw stone, bodies and wheels being pulled into it – wrapped up in the black-purple tendrils. There was a flash of gold moments later; a golden-orange blade slashing across the length of the opening. The giant scar flickered – if it looked big from where he was standing, how big was it down there? – but maintained despite the hit from the fully awakened Sword of the Creator.

_Fuck! _

There it was; there was the other one of Edelgard's trump cards – if not _the _trump card that made her confident enough to invade the monastery despite knowing Teach would stand opposed to her. The Agarthan support. It had to come out at some point, but why now, why when he was _so far away_-

“Is that-?” Lysithea started, before she cut herself off and swore. “We've got to get there-”

Before Khalid could agree, or simply fly in that direction without saying a word, an earthshaking roar seemed to shake the entire world.

He looked over his shoulder, saw the source, and damn near fell right out of his saddle.

_'Look at this picture, Teach. I found it buried away somewhere...this big beast is called 'The Immaculate One'. All the stories say that the goddess sent it to aide Serios in her crusade against Nemesis. Ring any bells? ...Yeesh, still no dice Sothis?, that must be pretty annoying... _

You couldn't compare a sketch to reality. Claude always knew that, but maybe months of watching Ignatz sketch and seeing the remarkably lifelike images even the most abstract of his work invoked had distracted him a bit from that truth.

Because neither words nor drawings could capture the majesty of a massive, white-scaled, honest-to-heavens _dragon _hurtling towards the battlefield like a missile.

For a solid minute, his brain rejected the reality of it. Clearly he was feeling the effects of flying upside-down one too many times over the many, _many _hours this siege had dragged on. But as the Immaculate One flew underneath him and his equally gobsmacked friends (_and enemies, what few were left!_), came to a hovering pause over where the golden flashes of the relics informed him the rest of his friends were, and then unleashed fiery _hell_.

No metaphor there. The dragon breathed what looked like a concentrated beam of the Flames of Aielell directly at the massive spell; it slammed into the spell with a tangible force, the ground beneath it catching fire all over again and what sounded like the air itself cracking under the weight of this power. It wasn't a brief attack, oh no no no...it was long and protracted; he watched, knowing that his mouth was open but not really able to care, as the massive scar buckled, shuddered, and slowly disintegrated as the white-red-orange light overwhelmed it...and then burned a long, smoking crater through the earth behind it.

The dragon roared with a great and terrible rage; it flew in a large circle around the imperial army, another beam of light building up in its throat...

...and that seemed to be the final straw.

Under the pressure from the Kingdom and the Alliance, under the counterattack lead by Byleth, under the loss of many of their demonic beasts to the relics and the arieal assault, and under the attack of this sudden, terrifying new player...the Imperial army broke.

And they ran.

They fled as the Immaculate One blasted the ground with that intense beam of fire again; they fled through the open ground away from the three lines of their tormentors. A chorus of rising cheers erupted from every allied direction; Khalid felt his head spin and quickly gave chase, babbling something over his shoulder that he didn't really hear. He could see flickers of golden light below, much less consistent than before, and used them as a guiding light back to the rest of his classmates as they chased after their would-be conquerors.

That's when the last Agarthan trump card began to play.

Atra called it Rewarp – the ability to move yourself instead of someone else large distances with magic. Massive circles of that light appeared sporadically throughout the much reduced, but still considerable size of the Imperial army and then flickered out – leaving gaps in the retreating force like someone had taken a bowl and scooped them out of a pond. Then the circles reappeared elsewhere, creating more circles as the Immaculate One continued its burning assault; for all its intense power, Khalid couldn't tell if it was killing more people than were disappearing every moment and reappearing much further down the fields -

-and then disappearing again. _They set up Warp Stations? That was a battle theory, an untested idea... _He scowled. _Specifically, it was **my **battle theory – I wrote it up as an assignment for Teach. I'm betting Hubert stole it. Dick. _

Yup, his brain was still fried. He could tell because he was thinking about inane shit in the face of an _actual living goddamn dragon __**what in the eternal flames-**_

“Claude!” Lysithea's voice snapped him out of his spiral toward a fit of insanity. “Should we land?”

“...Y-Yeah, maybe that's a good plan,” He managed. “I think our role in areal support has just been usurped.”

“Yeah, I noticed, oh Lord and Master of the Understatement!” The white-haired girl shrieked back. “_**What is that?!**__”_

“I think it's a dragon!” Claude responded, marveling at the fact that those words were an _actual fact _and not a joke he was making. _What the fuck is happening to the world. _

“No shit it's a dragon! I just – I don't – how? Why? _**How?!**_”

“You're asking that like I know! Why do you think _**I**_ know?!”

“Because you always know!”

“Since when?!”

Was Dimitri having a conversation this interesting? Yeah, yeah he needed to go find out. Just make sure he wasn't the only one seeing this. Maybe group hallucinations were a thing, but surely he would have noticed if he inhaled that much smoke in the few seconds he'd been flying through it?

* * *

When the last of the Imperial troops vanished in their retreat, the Immaculate One...simply flew away.

Claude entertained the random notion that it/he/she (_dragons had genders, right?_) was trying to give chase – maybe stop the Imperials from retreating altogether? – even though he had absolutely no rational reasoning to back up that explanation. Then he gave his head a shake, and gently urged Ivory down to the ground. He could _feel _her shivering from exertion that the day had forced on her as she made her way down toward Byleth, Dimitri and the others, who had spread out a bit to make room for her.

“Thanks, girl,” He said softly, rubbing her neck. “You were amazing today.”

Ivory responded with a tired chitter as she circled around the familiar faces below and slowly alit on the ground. “I know. I promise, I'm going to spoil you silly tomorrow. You're going to be the happiest wyvern in Fodlan.” He rubbed her neck again, slid his bow into her saddlebag and jumped off her back.

His legs ached from the – half day? Three quarters of the day? His sense of time was completely muddled by the battle, and while the sun was setting now, he honestly couldn't remember where it had been when the siege had started. It wasn't until he tried to take a few steps away from her that he realized how badly his legs were shaking – they practically turned to water right underneath him.

Strong, warm arms caught him before he could collapse and embarrass himself in front of everyone. Groaning, he looked up and met Byleth's exhausted but joyful emerald-gold eyes; seconds later she pulled him into a tight hug. “We're all alive,” She said, in weak wonder. “We actually all made it out alive. We did it. We...we _won._”

“We won the battle, at least.” Dimitri said, joining them. Claude tilted his head in her embrace and noted with worry that he was covered in dirt, bruises and bloodstains. But he was smiling, if faintly, and those sapphire eyes glowed with relief when they settled on him. He did his best to smile back.

It wasn't easy. When he was a bit steadier, he straightened up and looked around... and flinched when he really took in the battlefield. Corpses everywhere...the stench of burnt flesh assaulting his nose...the groans of the dying and the wounded as the combined army of their people walked back and forth, finding those they could save and those who needed to be gently eased into the arms of the goddess. (_Whatever that meant when she was hitching a ride in Byleth's body and couldn't remember anything after Agartha scorched Fodlan bare of life. ...there was a disturbing thought.) _Even though the imperial soldiers had come to kill him and all his friends...seeing so many of them dead was awful.

_This is war. This is...nothing anyone should ever want. _

Claude looked around his friends. Marianne had dismounted from her horse, blood staining her armor. Her eyes were shut and she was praying as she cried. Ashe stood next to her, pale as a ghost and shaking even as he did his best to set his own pain aside to comfort her. Lorenz was leaning heavily on Leonie, who fussed over him as Flayn worked to heal his injuries. Raphael had sat down on a rock, catching his breath and staring down at his bloody gauntlets like he'd never seen his hands before. Atra was speaking to Ingrid, one hand on an arrow buried in her side as Glenn gave the blonde a cloth to bite on in preparation to remove it. Felix was sitting on a rock, cradling an exhausted Bernadetta in his arms; Claude's heart skipped a beat before he noticed she was visibly breathing as she drifted off to sleep. Sylvain was trying to reassure an openly sobbing Dorothea with a hug, looking as lost as he'd ever seen the redhead. Ignatz was helping Shamir lift the dead body of a knight onto a stretcher for transport. Yuri was sitting and clutching his shoulder; Balthus, Hilda and Hapi were all hovering around him as Linhardt went to work closing all his injuries. Annette was kneeling next to Mercedes, sweetly and sadly singing while holding someone's hand. He couldn't tell if the man was church or empire, but it didn't really matter, did it...? Lysithea and Constance were wandering the field, watching Seteth seek out wounded imperials with Jeralt's Mercenaries having fanned out to do the same.

_We won. Why doesn't it feel like the incredible victory it technically is?_

“Hilda! Balthus!”

A familiar older male voice cut across the bloody field, and managed to raise Claude's spirits just a bit. Hilda spun around, let out an incomprehensible shrieking noise, and ran off into the arms of Holst Goneril.

He wouldn't say that the young lord was a friend, but he often found that he was an ally during the Conferences. Holst had a warm, handsome face and was built like he'd walked straight out of a romance novel – windswept light red hair, pale skin marred only by distinguished battle scars, blue eyes that had a spark of humor beneath the noble dignity he projected as easily as breathing. He was a War Master, decked out in Killer Knuckles and a personal ax designed to cleave through armor and heavy cavalry. (_It was absolutely no wonder he was drowning in suitors._) Holst radiated relief and happiness as he wrapped his arms around his beloved little sister and caught sight of his best friend, reassured at long last that both of them were alive.

“Holst! You have no idea how good it is to see your face,” Balthus laughed as he skidded to a halt a few feet away from his friend.

“Oh, I think I have some idea,” Holst retorted in all seriousness, the words certainly understating the fear that would have been plaguing him ever since he got the ultimatum. “I see you managed not to get mangled by the demonic beasts that were running all over the damned place; gives me hope.”

“Ah, you're never going to let that die, are you?” Balthus retorted, any petulance in his voice strained and clearly a performance. “I was thinking you would miss this rumble, what with the travel time and all. Should really realize by now that my bets never roll out.”

“Which is why you shouldn't bet at all,” Holst bantered back with fond exasperation, ruffling Hilda's hair. “Glad I convinced you to take the 'creepy ax' with you after all?” The teasing was a little weak, undercut by the sheer relief in his voice.

Hilda let out a muffled laugh that sounded like it was suppressing tears. Smiling with sad understanding, Holst looked up and swept his gaze over the lions and the deer. “You kids look exhausted. Come with me; my men and I gonna make you a place to rest up while we handle the clean up. You've done more than enough to deserve it.”

“Huh? But I can still help...” Byleth protested, despite the tangible exhaustion in her voice.

“Teach,” Claude mumbled, tugging on her arm. “Please, yield to logic. I am too tired, too confused and too stunned to trick you into taking care of yourself right now.”

She let out an adorable squeak of protest, which made the deer around them laugh. Felix picked up Bernadetta bridal style and carried her with very tender care as he walked over in Holst's direction; seeing the usually-prickly teen accept the offer without so much as a snarky remark convinced the rest of them to follow in his wake.

Rest sounded very good right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (finishes battle, collapses on bed) Rhea goes 'burn it all'. Dragon girl has some issues. Least she looks cool when she transforms. (glances at clock) ....should 'robably go to sleep. 
> 
> So why does Rhea transform and go after the Empire army...? Well, because while she doesn't have to worry about ensuring the evacuation, that means she's more furious than scared for her people...and angry-beyond-all-reason Rhea apparently sets cities on fire. Even when that's strategically the dumbest thing she could possibly do and her enemy isn't even in the city at the time, but I don't talk about Crimson Flower. Much. (scowls) Rhea's been controlled by her anger about what happened to her family for literal centuries, and Edelgard raided her loved ones tomb in the name of weaponizing their corpses just like the original Agarthans did. She wasn't going to be smart about this fight once it turned in her favor. 
> 
> So we have the aftermath of the battle with Byleth, and then our first Edelgard interlude! ...'S gonna be fun, I swear.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth deals with lords and her new position, and Sothis finally gives Dimitri a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 400,000 words. At the halfway point. How long is this story going to be? I don't know anymore? If someone hasn't added a Doorstopper tag to the story TVTropes page, then I don't know what to say.

Byleth essentially crashed the moment she was able to lie down.

Her sleep was mercifully dreamless; perhaps she was so exhausted that her mind couldn't conjure any images to torment her with. Either way, despite how tired she was, that didn't mean she didn't wake up periodically – her natural concern for their allies kicking in most likely.

Whenever her eyes fluttered open, she found herself lying on top of a large mat, thick blankets covering the whole of her body. Surrounding her were her students; the first time she woke, Flayn was a few inches away from her face, trembling and shaking in her sleep. Reaching out with a heavy hand (_honestly, her arm felt like it weighed a ton; her muscles ached in protest of the slightest movement_) she placed her hand on Flayn's head and stroked her hair as best she could. After a moment, Flayn slowly relaxed; drifting off into a more peaceful sleep. Byleth was vaguely aware of some people speaking around her – raising her head slightly allowed her to see a force of Kingdom guards standing around the large mat she and her students were lying on – but she couldn't make the words out; moments later she was drifting off to sleep again.

The sun had gone down when she momentarily woke again, but the makeshift pavilion around them was well-lit. Flayn had rolled over, nuzzling up to a snoring Constance...Marianne replaced her at Byleth's immediate side, and the soft wisps of silver she could just barely see over the blue-haired girl's head suggested Ashe was sleeping on her other side. There was a faint, malevolent shimmer of her Crest power around her hands; a result of the battle, no doubt... Byleth put her hand over her friends, trying to push some of Sothis's divine grace out through her fingertips to combat Marianne's bloody Crest.

_Leave her be. You won't consume her. Give up. _

“...them inside? ...still be in the woods...sir...sleeping deep...broken walls...”

“...safer...be careful...gentle...search is ongoing...”

“...archbishop...Sir Catherine is...questions...”

Byleth's eyes flickered toward their guards, who were having a low, soft conversation. She tried to listen in, focus, but her mind wouldn't cooperate. Moments later, she felt the phantom touch of her divine friend as Sothis wrapped her in a sideways hug. _Sleep, _the goddess chided her gently. _Let others care for you for once. _

She might have said something in response – she wasn't sure. But moments later, she was drifting off into the void again.

The third time she woke up, she was more alert than the previous times. Her vision came into focus on a familiar ceiling..._the Golden Deer classroom...? Oh...they must have moved us inside the monastery... _Slowly propping herself up on her elbows, Byleth blinked blearily and looked around for her students.

Claude was curled up under a heavy blanket a few feet away from her...and just beyond him was Bernadetta, her forehead pressed against Felix's arm. _Right, he fell asleep still holding her...I wonder what exactly is going on between them...does he just want to protect her, or is he falling in love with her? With Felix, it's a little hard to tell...my personal Felix-Translator isn't as well-developed as Ingrid or Sylvain's... _At least the three of them seemed to be untouched by nightmares; that was good. She'd been worried about Bernie in particular.

Biting her lip, she cast her eyes around the room for Dimitri. Within a few moments her gaze settled on him where he lay on one of the tables, a chair cushion providing a modicum of comfort to the position. He was twitching in his sleep, his broad shoulders impossibly tense...and that just wasn't acceptable.

Byleth pulled her legs up to her chest. Her whole body shrieked in protest; her muscles were stiff as a board and she still felt weak from the exertion of the battlefield. Grimacing she carefully pushed the blankets down – she seemed to be sharing with Ashe, who was on her left, and she didn't want to wake him up. Pushing herself to her feet slowly, she carefully stepped over him and around Marianne who was next to him; she walked past Annette and Lysithea to the table Dimitri was lying on and gently shook his shoulder.

Dimitri jerked in his sleep and lashed out with one hand, Byleth winced and quickly grabbed his arm, lowering her head so she could whisper directly to him. “_Mitya, Mitya, it's me. You're dreaming, wake up.” _After a second of struggling, hazy blue eyes opened into slits. He tilted his head toward her, struggling to focus through half-lidded eyes full of distress and helpless anger.

“_You're safe. We're safe._” She murmured, stroking his hair. The anguish drained away slowly as he looked up at her; tears formed at the corners of his eyes. “_Shhh. It's okay. It's over for now.” _She brushed his cheek with her finger. He leaned into her touch desperately. “_It's over for now._”

“_Stay,_” Dimitri rasped, slightly raising one trembling hand. Byleth sat on the bench and clasped it in hers, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

“_I'm not going anywhere,_” She chided gently. _“You know I won't._”

His grip on her tightened, seeking reassurance. She gently kissed him again and started to stroke his hair; she vaguely remembered her father doing this when she woke in the night as a child...a little while later, Dimitri fell back asleep. This time, he seemed more at ease...Byleth waited by his side for a minute or two, then carefully let go and stood up, looking around the room.

Dedue was sleeping sitting up against the wall; Mercedes was leaning against him, her eyes open in slits and one hand clasping his. Byleth carefully stepped over Sylvain and knelt in front of her, smiling and mouthing out '_everything alright?_' Mercedes gave her a tiny smile and a slight nod in response. Byleth carefully lifted the blankets thrown over their knees and brought it up, tucking the thick wool around her shoulders so it covered most of her body before stepping away again.

Sniffling caught her attention then, coming from somewhere behind her... Byleth turned around and saw Dorothea curled up in a ball just in front of the blackboard, shivering despite being wrapped in a blanket. Frowning in concern, she made her way over and knelt down next to her...the singer was moving in her sleep, pressing and rubbing her hands together...

Byleth gently shook her awake. Dorothea blinked blurrily up at her, and tried to smile. It was weak and shaky, and clearly she couldn't put much heart into it. Sothis gently pressed against the thin barrier between them, allowing herself to be seen in Byleth's eyes as she gathered the dark-haired girl up in her arms and embraced her tightly. The singer let out a muffled sob and buried her face in her shoulder, shaking violently as she tried to suppress the terrible grief and soldier's remorse hanging over her...

Dorothea wept for some time...it was hard to tell. There was no daylight through the windows yet. At some point, the singer choked out in a tiny, childlike voice, “_...goddess have mercy on me..._”

The words hit Byleth hard in the stomach – perhaps all the moreso because she knew that Dorothea was not much of a believer at all.

“_Of course,_” Was Sothis's quiet response; she poured out just enough power to be seen and heard.

Dorothea blinked a few times, managed to smile...and when her tears finally ran out, she managed to go back to sleep.

Byleth carefully placed her on the down mat and pulled the blanket over her. Then she stood, swallowing over a lump in her throat. Sothis's ghostly touch grasped her hand reassuringly; nodding to herself, she turned back to the impromptu pile of her classmates.

For the next handful of minutes, she silently moved from place to place, waking and comforting those who were suffering from night terrors. (_Annette wasn't a surprise, nor was Linhardt, but Ingrid was. Somehow she'd thought that, with how duty-bound the blonde girl was, she would have been more able to cope._) She adjusted a few blankets here and there (_Ignatz was tossing and turning in his sleep, though he at least didn't seem distressed. Glenn as well, which also surprised her a little..._) Looking down at the pile of teenagers all sleeping close to each other, drawing comfort from each other, they didn't look to her like a rag-tag group of assorted nobles and commoners of different lands. They looked like a family; her family. 

That's when the door creaked open – quietly, but notably. Blinking, Byleth whirled around and found herself face to face with a worried-looking Atra. “There you are,” She murmured, walking to the door and urging her to go outside. Carefully she shut it behind her – she couldn't bring herself to wake anyone else. “Did you not sleep?”

“Ah; n-no, I did.” Atra gave her that little odd look Byleth was coming to recognize – that little gesture that made it clear she couldn't fathom why the other girl was expressing concern for her. _I hope someday soon she stops finding it so strange!_ “I woke up a little while ago.”

“What's the matter?”

“The men are arguing,” Atra said uneasily. “Not all – I mean, the leaders are arguing. They can't agree on what to do next. Some of them might be getting angry. Lord Seteth is trying to mediate, but I think his voice is getting lost in the shuffle.”

Byleth blew out an uneasy breath. _I really should have seen that coming, _she thought with resignation. “I see.” Then the second part of that statement hit her. “Lord Seteth? Is Lady Rhea not part of the deliberation?”

Atra crossed her arms, dark blue eyes grave. “No...she's unaccounted for.”

A painful jolt lanced through her chest. “W-What?!”

The renegade Agarthan shook her head. “I overheard Lord Seteth giving directions to some of the knights to look for her...apparently after she sent Catherine and Shamir to support you, she vanished from the courtyard. Cyril was the last person who saw her...and he said that she sent him away before walking back into the monastery.”

_W...What? But – but why? _

“Apparently her last order was that if she were to fall in the battle, you were to ascend to the position of archbishop.” Atra said. “She told you that, right?”

Byleth nodded tightly, even as her mind swam with distress. Rhea was gone. Gone. How? They had won. She was supposed to be waiting for them when they re entered the monastery. She was supposed to... The ground swayed a bit; Atra's worried murmurs coming from seemingly miles away. Her vision went gray for a second; when she blinked a few times, she was leaning against a pillar with Atra holding her hand to keep her steady, her dark blue eyes full of worry.

“Sorry,” She whispered. “...I'm still tired, I guess. I wasn't expecting to hear...” She couldn't really form the words. Rhea...in her slightly strange and distant way, she'd been the closest thing she'd had to a mother figure since Sitri had died giving birth to her. With her father – gone – why did another person she cared about had to disappear?

“Maybe you should go back to sleep?” Atra suggested hesitantly.

Byleth gave her head a firm shake. “No. You said the lords were arguing – what's going on in there?”

Atra frowned in concern. “I think it's best you hear for yourself; I don't think I could summarize it accurately.”

“Then lead the way.”

The two girls then hurried across the grassy field toward the monastery. There were guards posted every few yards, men serving both the kingdom and the alliance with few Knights of Serios in sight. _They must have taken the brunt of the casualties during the siege... _Unnervingly enough, they all bowed their heads to her as she walked by them, stepping out of her way when she demanded entrance to the monastery. They called her 'my lady' even though she was a drudge mercenary with no land or title to her name – except for Sothis's heart and the Sword of the Creator.

Not nothing. But not so much that it fundamentally altered the woman walking through the halls she'd come to cherish, toward the sound of many voices raised in frustration and argument, with a girl born underground at her heels. _I'm not the Ashen Demon anymore, _Byleth realized with a rush of cold water. _I'm the voice of the goddess, a figurehead of the faith and a living bridge between humanity and our goddess. _Somehow, this title hung as heavily over her as the former had.

As she moved closer to the source of the voices, she began to make out some of what was being said...

“-my lands would take the brunt while yours are protected by the Ohgma mountains! Am I to see the good in being your meat shield against that tyrannical, murderous girl?!”

“-no more safe than you are! A favorite lady of the court turned out to be involved in the murder of our king and the massacre of his household! How dare you suggest we have been any less wronged-”

“-safer together than apart! Clearly the Emperor intended to play us against each other; it is by the grace of our children that we have been able to face the threat as one. We must take advantage-”

“-separate interests! I would not have you treating my men and my knights as disposable mercenaries!”

_Well,_ _that doesn't sound very encouraging, _Sothis noted with utmost dryness as Byleth and Atra came to a halt in front of the double doors that lead to the knight's hall – apparently a place that had suffered comparatively little damage, like the officer's academy classrooms. It was far from the largest room in the monastery, which probably wasn't helping the mood inside. Byleth grasped the doorknobs and hesitated, her stomach twisting into a knot. She was struck with an overwhelming need to rush back, wake Claude and bring him with her. He was the one who knew his way around politics; she had attended parties and held guard outside the doors while lords conversed with others, which wasn't the same at all.

...But right now, Claude was the son of an absent lord. And she was Rhea's chosen successor.

_I'm with you. I'll give you words if you loose them, _Sothis promised. Atra touched her shoulder and murmured a supportive noise.

Byleth let out a breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed the doors open before striding inside, Atra at her heels.

* * *

There were a lot of big personalities in the room. Byleth recognized Herman Gloucester from a few previous missions; the old man had a look that would likely be described in a fable as 'the face of a villain', his hair had prematurely gone white, his hands were wrinkled and he was shouting at the top of his lungs at Lord Rodrigue. Felix and Glenn's father, while remaining polite and stoic as ever, had a look in his eyes that suggested he was clinging to the last threads of his patience – which made him resemble his younger son _very_ closely. They were the ones standing closest to the door; there were other important men in the room; both more and fewer than she had expected. A tall man with dark blue hair and elegant black robes with the Edmund coat of arms on the back (_Was he Marianne's adoptive father, or a relative sent in his stead to man the troops? They didn't look much alike, so she was leaning toward the latter_) was having a spirited discussion with a man with curly golden hair who had enough facial similarities to Ingrid to be identifiable as Lord Galetea. Holst was animatedly speaking to a pair of men she didn't recognize, but suspected were retainers of one of the lords in the room judging by how fine their clothes were. Judth was there as well, watching the proceedings with exasperation and occasionally shouting in Herman Gloucester's direction when he said something that offended her – which seemed to be fairly often.

Seteth was there as well, vainly trying to get the room to calm down and address their concerns in a calm fashion; unfortunately, his voice seemed to be getting drowned out.

Byleth looked around the room, stepped clear of the doorway so everyone could see her, and then thought _help me a little, Sothis? _

She saw her friend smirk in her mind's eye; she sucked in a deep breath and then shouted, _**“STOP THIS NONSENSE!**_”

Her projected voice cracked like a roll of thunder, easily roaring over the other raised voices. All the men flinched and collectively spun around, several instinctively going for their weapons until they saw her standing there. From behind her, Atra pressed the hilt of the Creator's Sword into her hand; she squeezed the other girl's wrist in appreciation before sheathing the fabled relic at her side.

The gesture gained the perfect response; she _felt _the great men's eyes fall to the sword, and their outrage at her aggressive entrance died in their throats. After a moment of uncertain silence, Rodrigue found his voice first. “My lady,” He addressed her politely, giving her the half bow traditionally given to the highest members of the church.

Holst mirrored the gesture moments later, a slight smile of relief on his face. Not wanting to be singled out as rude or blasphemous before her, the rest of the nobles and retainers followed suit; Herman Gloucester's bow was overly dramatic and she suspected he was shifting gears in order to appear especially pious before her. _Even if I didn't know about some of the skeletons in your closet, I've dealt with too many nobles to be fooled by that. _

“Professor – Lady Eisner,” Seteth said, quickly correcting himself as he hurried over to her. “You should still be resting.”

“I've found that sleep will not come easily to me until Fodlan is safe from the Empire and their allies,” Byleth responded. It was even partly true. “My students are distraught from being forced to slaughter their fellow humans, Emperor Edelgard escaped with not inconsiderable remnants of her army despite our victory, and Lady Rhea has vanished. War is upon us; I have no time to rest.”

Nodding gratefully to him, she delicately stepped around Seteth and walked further into the room so she was standing in the middle in front of Rodrigue and Lord Gloucester. The rest of the lords gathered close to her; Judith was looking at her with both amusement and approval.

“I know that everyone here has much to fear, and much on the line in the face of war with the Empire,” She began, “but that is why it is more important than anything that the Church, Kingdom and the Alliance stand united against this threat. The Emperor wants us to remain divided, for that gives her better opportunities to claim all of Fodlan for herself.”

“My lady, the lords of our lands have not fought alongside each other in hundreds of years,” Lord Gloucester protested. “Our needs for our land are fundamentally different, to rejoin with them now is simply-”

“Lord Gloucester, is your pride so great you cannot bend it even in the name of saving Fodlan from destruction?” Byleth interrupted sharply. She remembered from Claude's complaints over tea that when this man was allowed any arm room in a conversation, he would forcibly dominate it and prevent proper debate. She knew cutting a lord off was a faux pass at best under most circumstances, but she was not in the mood for a war of words. “There is more at stake here than you know.”

Knowing this was as good a time as any to introduce the information, and that secrecy was not as valuable now that they were at war, she urged Atra to come forward. The black-haired girl stepped forward without fear, solemn as the grave. “Emperor Edelgard has sought out a deadly and hate-filled cult in order to increase her chances of ruling all of Fodlan,” She said, ignoring Gloucester gaping at her. “Prince Dimitri, Lord Claude and I – along with the rest of my students – have dodged at least two assassination attempts from this cult over the past few months. One of their number – a man who had impersonated librarian Tomas – poisoned the entire population of a village near Garreg Mach with a concoction he invented that drove them uncontrollably mad. Were it not for Atra, who escaped from this cult and fought against their machinations, the death count would have been much worse.” She shook her head. “They poisoned everyone, even the little children...when I confronted the man, he claimed that he cared not, only that his 'experiment' was successful.”

“I can corroborate this,” Seteth added, drawing a few eyes away from Atra, who'd shrunk a bit under all the sudden attention. “The attack on Remire was kept quiet in hopes that we could find and root out the cult without causing a panic...we hadn't even fathomed that they had royal protection of Adrestia.”

“How is that possible?” The man with the Edmund coat of arms inquired, slightly disbelievingly. “You had the Emperor within your halls this entire time, and you _never _saw any suspicious behavior that would have revealed her involvement with these...cultists?”

“She had a number of odd absences, yes! But when confronted, she always had a reasonable explanation for them, including business with the empire, and corroboration from her retainer Vestra.” Seteth shook his head. Likely there was no acting in his pained expression; Byleth could see him going over the previous months in his mind's eye, desperately trying to figure out if there was some way he could have stopped this nightmare before it began.”

“A cult of dark mages? Truly? That sounds like something out dramatic theater,” Gloucester said skeptically, eyeing Atra.

“_Ist das so, mein Her_?” Atra responded, a strange and grating language pouring easily from her lips. Everyone in the room stiffened...but none moreso than Seteth, who went ramrod straight and stared at her with shocked and – and almost horrified eyes. “_Die Welt hat mehr zu bieten, als Sie wissen._”

“W...What?” Lord Galetea asked shakily_. _“I don't understand.”

“The cult is very real. The men who raised me loathe you more than the Emperor, more than you would think was possible for humans to feel.” Atra shook her head. “They loathe all who live on the surface of Foldan, for they were cast into the darkness a long time ago. If the Emperor were to raze the Kingdom and the Alliance both in a hail of hellfire, so completely that no living soul in the future would know that you ever lived at all, only then would she match the hatred those men feel to the ones who live in the lands they believe were stolen from them.”

She turned on her heels to face Lord Rodrigue and Lord Galetea, her expression twisting with clear thought. Byleth's heart lodged in her throat when she saw a calm clarity sweep over the other girl's face. '_Don't,_' she wanted to protest...but ultimately she kept her tongue still. This was a choice only she could make.

“I know this because I saw their attempt with my own eyes. I was sent with the battalion that orchestrated the Tragedy of Duscur four years ago. I was told to poison the King of Faerghus and ensure with the others that there were no survivors to contradict the lie our mole would perpetuate in the aftermath. I had lived so long in the dark that I did not comprehend our targets were fellow human beings until the fires were set and I saw Glenn Fraldarius fleeing with his friend the prince.”

“Even pierced by arrows and stabbed in the side, he didn't falter until he forced his way through the perimeter and gave the prince to another who could help him escape. As I watched this, I knew everything the cult had told me – that you people were savages, barely more intelligent than animals and thieves that had to be eliminated for humanity's glory – were self-serving lies. I finally found my soul, betrayed them, and rescued Glenn from his death...the only person I was ultimately able to pull from those terrible flames...”

Atra locked her fingers together – probably more to keep her nerves steady than any potential gesture of pleading for mercy. After a moment of silence, she walked toward a shell-shocked Rodrigue and knelt at his feet, lowering her head so her neck was exposed. “This evil is real. If you cannot forgive me – and none would bare you ill will if that is so – then at least, I wish to die knowing that they will not be allowed to slaughter the innocent people of Fodlan.”

An eerie silence fell over the room. Lord Galetea was staring at Atra with a mixture of horror, shock and creeping anger. Seteth still had that shell-shocked look – he was looking at the young girl like she was a terrifying specter. The other lords were completely silent, reeling as they tried to wrap their minds around this revelation and all that it implied. Judith muttered something that sounded like 'by the burning flames; she would have been a kid' while Holst was regarding the kneeling girl with an strange mixture of revulsion and compassion.

Rodrigue, as he looked down at her, slowly began to cycle through emotions – shock, rage, devastation, uncertainty and distress were all visible from one second to the next. He swallowed hard, clearly fighting to reign his emotions in. He had the right to feel conflicted, Byleth noted distantly. She was responsible for the poisoning and by extension the death of his best friend...but she'd also saved both his son's life and likely the life of his surrogate son as well.

“...How old are you, Atra?” Rodrigue asked after one of the longest moments Byleth could remember.

“Seventeen, Lord Fraldraius.” Atra answered quietly.

“...You were just a child when they made you do this...” Rodrigue slowly shook his head and stepped forward, putting a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Stand up. It is not I you should speak these words to, but my prince – who will soon be king.”

“As you wish.”

Byleth squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She'd been dreading this moment ever since she heard Atra's story. What would Dimitri do...? She knew how much that night haunted him, how much he'd suffered thanks to the murder of his father and friends. But Atra had been Thales's _slave_; it felt wrong to give her the same level of blame that belonged solely to that man.

“The Emperor has taken in cultists who turn their own _children_ into murderers as her allies?” Holst broke the silence, outrage bubbling in his voice. “Is she completely _mad_?”

“She is _evil_, that's what she is,” Lord Galetea retorted, his voice shaking in rage. “If she's knowingly sheltering those monsters, no quarter should be given to her!”

“Does she truly know them for what they are?” Judith wondered aloud. “Or did they manipulate a young girl surrounded by enemies in her father's court into believing that they could help her reclaim what had been 'stolen' from her family?”

The Kingdom representatives all scowled at that, clearly dismissing the notion. Byleth, meanwhile, felt her stomach sink. The thought had been on her mind as well, after all...

“We stole nothing!” Lord Galetea shouted. “King Loog won our freedom, righteous and just, no matter what those lords mutter amongst themselves.”

“I speak of the Insurrection of the Seven, not the succession,” Judith retorted. “though I can see how you might have assumed otherwise, given her manifesto. With the upheaval in court caused by the Lords taking executive powers away from Emperor Ionius, it would have been a perfect time for this cult to put down roots in the capital and possibly begin to influence the young princess after the deaths of her siblings. She would have been extremely vulnerable then.”

“I cannot speak for her,” Byleth said, deciding it was time to interject and bring attention back to her. “But I know that the only way we can fight her on even footing is for our three forces to unite as one. The Empire is the largest land in Fodlan; they have the largest army, despite their losses, and they have access to the myriad of evils the cult of Agartha will provide. They want as many deaths of our people as possible.”

Another uneasy moment as the lords considered this.

Judith scoffed at their uncertainty. “Are we a useless lot of pampered children, or the protectors of our people?” She demanded, glaring scornfully at a pale-faced Gloucester before striding forward so she was standing between Byleth and Rodrigue, her expression noble and resolute. “I'm not so arrogant I would turn away a sincere offer of an alliance from a man known for his honor. Lord Gloucester may do as he pleases regarding exposing his people to the Empire and its pet cult – the House of Daphnel will commit itself to this three-way alliance, damn what the rest of you choose to do.”

The Edmund man regarded her uncertainly before clearing his throat. “I can't speak for my lord, but with these new stakes in mind...” He looked with a mixture of unease and pity at Atra before continuing, “...I imagine he, too, will see the people of Fodlan protected. I'll ensure that the information and the offer reaches him as soon as possible.”

“I'll do the same with Father,” Holst added, crossing his arms. “If he refuses to see good sense, I'll take my own men and join you regardless. There is far more at stake here than the relative powers of the noble families.”

“Indeed,” Lord Galetea said, with only a hint of reluctance. He was clearly of the mind of avenging his king, whom he might have known personally judging by his age. “I do not wish for my daughter to have to rule our house in a time of war and peril; so I shall do my duty as her father and as the protector of my people.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself,” Rodrigue said. “We all have a common enemy in this war. There is much more wisdom in standing together than apart.” Atra, standing silently at his side, nodded slightly in agreement.

Gloucester did not look happy, but when Byleth fixed him with what she hoped was a regal look, he flinched and bowed his head. “That...is true,” He said, and boy did he sound like he was swallowing an entire lemon when he said the words. “If I can truly count on reinforcements helping me guard the Great Bridge of Myrridin, and by extension my people, from the Empire's retaliation, I do pledge my support to Her Gracious Lady, chosen by the goddess, in this Holy War.”

Byleth fought with all her might not to grimace and instead nodded gracefully. _Please don't tell me everyone is going to start calling me that..._

_I would like to say they wouldn't, but I fear you shouldn't get your hopes up, _Sothis noted dryly. _Well, at least we know for certain that some people are on board. Shall we go back and check on the delinquents? _

_That sounds like a plan. _

* * *

“Professor-” “Lady Byleth-”

Two voices vied for her attention as she turned to leave. Blinking, Byleth glanced over her shoulder to see Seteth and Rodrigue both approaching her, Atra trotting in the latter's wake. “Forgive me,” The Faerghus lord said apologetically. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“Certainly. Shall we walk and talk? I assume it's going to become quite lively in here.” She nodded to where the other lords and retainers were beginning to speak animatedly to each other, along with the newly arrived Catherine.

“Yes, perhaps that's for the best,” Seteth said, giving Atra a pointed look.

Byleth nodded and walked out the door alongside the two older men, stepping into the rays of the now early morning light. The air was cool edging toward being cold; she sucked in a deep breath and let it clear her head. There weren't many lights in the windows of Garreg Mach; many of which were damaged. It pained her to see the results of the siege on the building that was practically her home; holes broken into the walls by artillery, scorch marks and debris lying seemingly every dozen feet. Biting her lip, Byleth glanced back at Atra. The black-haired girl gave her a understanding and grateful look before giving her head a slight shake.

“I have a request to make, a small one related to your new position in the church,” Rodrigue explained to her. If he was avoiding looking at Atra even as she walked alongside him, Byleth could understand. “Now that he's reached his majority, and with war declared, it's important that Dimitri properly ascend to his father's throne. The ceremony can be preformed here at Garreg Mach, but only with two witnesses of the clergy. If you would be the other one alongside Lord Seteth...”

“I can do that, easily.” Byleth blinked at him. “Is the Lord Regent not taking command?”

“Rufus Blaiddyd has the military sensibilities of a drunk, concussed wyvern,” Rodrigue said in a _very _deadpan voice. Byleth probably shouldn't have burst out laughing, but she was so startled to hear _him _say that about a fellow lord she couldn't help herself. “The Eternal Flames would turn to frost before I let him take general command of the Faerghus armies.”

“I-I see,” She managed, hurrying to smother her amusement. Sothis, who was out and out cackling, wasn't being a big help. “We should probably wake Dimitri and inform him of this, so his ascention and summons to arms can happen at the same time.”

Rodrigue nodded, a faint smile on his face from her reaction. “What is it you wanted to discuss, Lord Seteth?” He asked, turning to the other man.

Seteth started to say something, looking at Atra, but stopped and shook his head. “It can wait until after the prince is crowned,” He responded. “And has heard her testimony, I assume.”

Atra made a small noise to the affirmative. Byleth, however, felt her eyebrows table as she looked at the green-haired bishop.

_He recognized the language Atra spoke, didn't he? But how?_

_I agree, and I'm not sure. Perhaps he intends to illuminate the matter, seeing as he rushed after you the moment the small conference was adjurned. _Sothis mused. Then she hesitated for a moment before saying, _...there is something familiar about him...I feel like I know him very well. But when I reach for it, the knowledge slips away. _

_Truly? _A number of possible explanations for this bubbled up in Byleth's mind, but she couldn't figure out which was more likely than the others. _Hopefully we can do something about that in time. Perhaps the throne can help you restore more of your memory somehow; there's clearly some of your magic still imbued in it. _

_Perhaps, _Sothis agreed, sounding faintly hopeful.

They made their way quickly back to the Golden Deer classroom. Byleth felt her stomach churn as she carefully stepped inside, avoiding waking her friends as she made her way over to Dimitri, who was already stirring when she reached him.

“Byleth?” He murmured, slowly sitting up and gazing at her. Whatever her expression was, it must have been telling; any remaining tiredness fled from his eyes, and he reached up to stroke her cheek. “What's wrong? What can I do?”

“Lord Rodrigue is here. He says it's time for you to ascend to rulership of Faerghus.” She explained. Dimitri's expression grew a bit pensive, but overall serious. Almost unwillingly, Byleth took in a hopefully unobtrusive breath and explained, “And there's something Atra needs to tell you.”

Her prince frowned for a moment before understanding flooded his face; instantly he was on his feet, making his way to the doorway. Byleth followed him with a feeling of foreboding in her stomach. _Please don't do something you'll regret, Mitya, _she pleaded silently.

Watching the scene she'd been worried about since that conversation in abyss unfold left Byleth in what felt like an out-of-body experience. She saw Dimitri embrace Rodrigue and say something to him that she didn't catch, watching Atra as she was. Seteth added his voice to this – it almost looked like he was trying to distract Dimitri – but Atra, apparently suspecting as much, stepped forward and spoke up.

Dimitri turned to her, a curious look on his face. Atra began to tell a story, one that Byleth recognized from before, so she just stood in place and listened as Atra outlined the reason she had been in Faerghus and why she'd been in the position to save Glenn and Dimitri himself.

When the poison was explained, Byleth _saw _the blood drain out of Dimitri's face. Atra finished her tale, giving no excuse but only the explanation of being raised in the dark that she had given both Byleth and the lords, and gracefully placed her life in his hands.

Dimitri slowly shook his head. He started to tremble; first slightly, then with steadily increasing violence as he one hand over his eyes. He let out a shaky and disturbingly familiar, unhinged little laugh that brought her straight back to the Holy Tomb. Then he rasped out, his voice dry as desert stand...

“..._**Why...?!**_ _Why, why, **WHY?!**_” The words were soft at first but rapidly raised in volume; Dimitri dropped his hand, staring wildly at Atra as tears spilled down his cheeks. “_**Why?!**_” He was half raging, half begging, his hysteria digging into Byleth's chest like a terrible claw.

Atra flinched. Tears formed at the corners of her own eyes. “Because Thales demanded it.” She whispered. “And Thales hates the surface.”

Byleth started to say something – what, she wasn't sure.

But she was cut off by Dimitri's eyes flaring with a burst of rage so terrifying it robbed her of her voice; his arm blurred and -

\- the ornate knife flew past Atra's cheek, leaving only a harmless cut and causing her to stumble backward reflexively.

Dimitri took a step back, looking down at his trembling hand with tear stained, disbelieving eyes. Then he turned and fled.

_I was afraid of this, _Sothis sighed and placed a hand on Byleth's shoulder. _Here, Byleth. Let me handle this. _

* * *

Byleth trailed behind Sothis as she carefully slipped cross the grounds, following Dimitri's trail. It was depressingly easy to avoid any would-be gawkers; the roads were quiet and many people who'd been present for months were simply gone. The goddess strode forward with purpose, taking the long pathway to the cathedral and pushing the double doors open shortly after they banged closed behind the fleeing prince.

The large room was eerily empty; her footsteps echoed on the floor as Sothis looked to and fro, searching for her quarry.

It took a few seconds, but then they found the golden-haired prince collapsed on his knees in front of the statues of the Four Saints. His sobs were choked and strangled with the weight of his contradictory emotions; he was clutching his head like he thought it would split apart. He was murmuring fervently to himself; _stop it!, I know, I can't, I haven't, stop, please, I don't know, I didn't know-, _pleading with some invisible figures. His head snapped over when he heard the footsteps, but whatever he'd planned to spit out died when he saw Sothis standing in that open hallway.

“..._Goddess..._” He said weakly.

Sothis sighed. “That massacre scarred your soul along with your body, didn't it?” She asked quietly, walking forward.

Dimitri flinched, ducking his head; clearly expecting a chastisement or even a smiting. Sothis did neither of those things; instead, she knelt in front of him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Byleth wanted to cry herself; she knelt next to Sothis in her body, trying to stroke Dimitri's back even though she knew she couldn't touch him in this state.

“I...I can't forgive her...”

“And I am not commanding you to,” Sothis responded calmly. “But do know this; Atra was a slave to that man Thales, and a child locked in a basement with the windows barred who was told that the sun set in the east and rose in the west without any way to see for herself. She has not gone unpunished, for now that her eyes are open, she is half mad with misery and regret. Your father will haunt her steps for years to come.”

“My father...” The words were a wretched whisper. “My father...I should have avenged him...” Dimitri whispered. Sothis's brow furrowed, and Byleth watched him with rapt attention. “But I spared her. I shouldn't have missed – she was mere feet away from me. But I spared her...” He let out a shuddering, strangled noise Byleth couldn't put a name to. “I failed my father...”

“Having any semblance of pity for that girl does not mean you have done wrong by your father,” Sothis scolded gently. “He loved you, and he will forgive you for it.”

“Truly? How is that possible?” Dimitri begged. “I'm supposed to put his soul to rest...”

“That is my duty, not yours,” Sothis responded, running her fingers through his hair. “Justice for your father and those who died that day lies in defeating Thales. So do not forget in your grief that there are living people who love and need you still...King Dimitri.”

Rodrigue found them there like that some time later, Dimitri having sobbed and screamed out grief and helplessness and anger while lying limp in Sothis's comforting arms. For the first time in years, he expelled a fraction of the madness and the pain that had haunted him ever since that night.

* * *

“In the name of the Goddess and all that is good in the land, I do hereby name you King Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd of Faerghus.” Byleth placed the crown on his head, stepped back and retrieved Areabhar from where it lay upon the alter. Dimitri stood, a heavy cloak covering his shoulders and the new, ornate armor fit for his station glinting in the sunlight. The famous Hero's Relic felt oddly heavy and hot in her hands; nevertheless, she placed it in his hands and smiled gently at him. “Reign with justice and the guidance of our holy mother.”

Sothis's bemused chuckle made it hard to keep a straight face; she mentally flailed at her friend, begging her to stop making the ceremony difficult.

“I swear it,” Dimitri responded firmly. His eyes were serious, but clear for now of his troubles. He returned her smile briefly before turning around and hitting the flat end of the Relic Lance against the floor.

His people knelt before him, along with the church figures. The members of the Alliance bowed in respect, Claude standing in the front pew and winking playfully at his lovers. Dimitri suppressed a smile and began to give his first speech, clear, concise and confident.

If it bothered him that Atra was present, standing at the back of the church, he made no visible sign of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Atra said was "Is that so, my lord? There is more to the world than you know." Since they've been separated from Fodlan for a thousand years, Agartha probably has its own language even if they can speak the common surface language. Using German because I am not a linguist. 
> 
> Byleth is coming into her role as Sothis's Voice in Fodlan. She doesn't really want it, but she's stuck with it, and she's been with Claude long enough to know that the role is very important to steering the future of the people who believe. Plus she's a very important lynchpin between the Kingdom and Alliance, who have some degree of old resentment from the latter's succession way back when - and she wants to support Claude and Dimitri in the war, whatever it takes. 
> 
> Atra hadn't planned to hide the truth forever. Dimitri, thanks to his better mental state, is just sane enough that his innate compassionate nature is at war with his desire/need to avenge his father - which is why the dagger missed. (sighs) I really should get to writing their B Support, but it's really goddamn hard to strike a balance in the complicated emotions Dimitri would have towards her. 
> 
> I really wish I could draw. There are a bunch of scenes in this fic that I would love to make comics or single drawings of. Unfortunately, I can't draw anything more complex than a wagon wheel. (feelsbad)


	52. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard deals with her dramatic loss and tries to plan a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Edelgard interludes aren't going to be as long as fully-fledged chapters - they are interludes, after all. They're a look into her mind. I don't have a super strict plan as to where and when I'll have them settled because I'm kind of making up the War Timeline as I'm going along, but I plan to have at least three or four.

It wasn't until she walked through the stunned streets of the Empire, the roads lined with peasants staring at their routed army in disbelief, that Edelgard become fully conscious of the desire to rant and scream building up in her throat.

She suppressed it long practice. Her regal mask, old and well-worn from the days she'd been imprisoned and watching her brothers and sisters die one by one, was firmly in place. She lead the army down the road with the same confidence than if she had won, watching for dissension in the roadside up toward the ancient palace of the Adrestian Emperors.

The lack of cheering was eerie. There was a slight chill rolling across her skin; she looked at the faces of the peasants, catching glimpses of their expressions before they bowed their heads in reverence. Fear, disbelief, confusion. Many of them had been ardent churchgoers before she ascended the throne and they accepted her. She'd always known that; Serios's false religion was overgrown across Fodlan, like weeds choking a garden. It was herself, she knew, that these people were choosing over the church. And yet in spite of her rally, her promises and her confidence, the greatest and largest army in the continent was slinking home in defeat with nothing to show for their righteous cause.

Yet.

“_You are my enemy, and I will **end **you.”_

It would feed their doubts. She knew it. Her people would whisper, wondering what they were trading the faith and fake peace that had comforted them for so long for. Undoubtedly some had already fled in search of a church, unable to give up their crutch. Lady Varley and Lord Hevring, who'd been expecting their wayward children to have been brought home by the victorious army, might begin to eye her with distrust and turn their gazes towards the Alliance for a more sure safeguard of their future. Her soldiers may become resentful in the faces of such losses with no gains for them.

Not 'no gains'. As she had spiritedly reminded her forces, Garreg Mach was damaged severely, the Knights of Serios decimated in the defense. And most importantly, she'd been able to injure the great and feared Immaculate One when the beast tried to burn them all in her flames after they fled. The 'Emissary of the Goddess' was not invincible, did not have all-power over humanity. Humanity could _rise _against them and win.

She'd meant to give this speech before the ruins of Garreg Mach – that symbol of the beast's power finally laid low.

Instead she'd had to deliver it repeatedly, walking from camp to camp of her battered, ashen, bleeding soldiers, and within the medical tents where people died before all the words could leave her lips.

“_Do you remember the children of Remire? Don't worry, Captain Jeralt told me. I'm going to carve each and every one of their names into your skull!”_

Edelgard gritted her teeth as Hubert took over the duty of dispersing the army after they reached the foot of the capital. She shook her head to drive the voice away – and the memory of the burnt corpse of a child in that village who'd been stabbed to death and trampled underfoot by Solon's experiments.

She turned and spoke the words they needed; a reminder that they were the first and true rightful rulers of Fodlan, the ancient Empire that would be reborn and reforged anew in the fires of this war. A glorious future was still within reach; a future in which everyone no matter their birth was free. She barely heard herself saying them, the buzzing in her ears consistent and steadily louder.

“What. Happened.”

Her uncle _(if that was even who he _was) didn't wait for her to reach the throne room itself before getting in her face. Hubert rushed forward and pushed in between them, one hand raised threateningly. Edelgard glared back at the older man, her frustration threatening to bubble over. She prayed it wouldn't show; she was not willing to deal with snide remarks about little girls and tantrums right now.

“Put a leash on your dog; I'm not asking _him._” Arundel snarled. “Why, when all the cards were in our hands, did we need to flee like common _bandits _from a sudden attack by the _Kingdom _and the _Alliance_? This failure is unacceptable!”

“You were there. I distinctly remember you reassuring me that your black magic could compensate for the – what did you call it? The 'unexpected nuisance'?” Edelgard fired back, her voice smooth and cold as ice. “Yet here we _all _are, your beasts not half as useful as they could have been in the face of your 'first successes.'”

“_You're one of **their **allies. I'll never forgive you.” _

Her hands clenched tighter, somehow.

_Why, Lysithea?! Why, you were the only one who could understand – who **should **have understood! You and I are the same, we're all but kin...yet now you're my foe? Rejecting me in the name of the world that made your torture possible?!_

“They should not have been there at all!” Arundel shouted, all but spitting in her face. “How was it that they were prepared for our eventuality?”

“Because _you _couldn't keep track of one of your own deserters,” Edelgard fired back. Her face flashed in the Emperor's mind; blazing dark blue eyes full of contempt and determination, rage on behalf of the dead villagers dripping from her every word. _An anomaly to be certain. Could she truly **be **Agarthan, to have any sympathy for 'animals?'_. “Solon informed you of the girl, did he not? Somehow, she managed to convince the students of the officer's academy not to kill her and told them of your existence.”

“You mean to say, the two of you were so _incompetent _you could not root out and dispose of one girl in a monastery that was utterly hostile to her?” Arundel sneered. “Perhaps I underestimated which noble to back; maybe I would have had better luck serving that Alliance boy.”

“You were the one who lost her in the first place! You bragged to me about the loyalty of your men in comparison to my father's craven, power-grasping court, yet you drove away a warrior who may yet still be a thorn in our side.” Edelgard crossed her arms. “Instead of impotently blaming each other, perhaps you should turn your attention to finding her and Rhea. You shot her out of the sky, but continued to flee instead of securing our great enemy.”

Arundel glared at her for a moment longer, before sneering and striding off, shouting for Myson and Odesse. Edelgard remained in place for a moment, focusing on her breathing as Hubert muttered instructions to the mage at his side who doubled as one of his spies. Whatever Arundel planned to do, they would know about it first.

“Leave us, all of you,” Edelgard ordered the royal guard, striding forward toward the throne room after her uncle disappeared into the labyrinth of the palace.

She shoved her way through the large double doors and let them slam shut behind her and Hubert, who naturally had ignored her order in the name of her heath or whatever. She stomped forward until she was a yard or so from the throne, then suddenly found herself staring at it.

She could still see the moment in her mind's eye; kneeling before her father as his aged voice shook on the words that made her the new Emperor. She'd imagined her siblings standing around her, taking some solace in knowing that their murders could not be repeated in a world where Crests didn't matter.

And yet.

“_Oh, that's a shame. I've been working with that information for months.” _

“**DAMN IT!**” The scream burst out almost against her will. “**Damn him, damn him, DAMN HIM**!” She began to pace viciously back and forth, her nails digging into her skin as the image of that smirking bastard overtook all reason. She could hear his mocking voice as if he was in the room, and she slashed at the air with her hands, wishing she had torn him apart with her ax. “Damn him! 'Why are you doing this', he asked oh-so-innocently! What would he have me do instead? Turn over Fodlan to an arrogant, ignorant foreigner?! Let the legacy of my father and my Empire turn to ashes, forget what was stolen from us by that beast?! Damn him! I should have thrown that manipulative bastard to the golem when I had the chance!”

He'd tricked her. It _burned _to admit it; that even after she'd been taught oh so brutally how nobles served only themselves, how she should expect the worst from them, she'd gone and accepted the notion that Claude was a fool playing at things he didn't understand.

Yet now it was clear that he was the architect of her defeat...all because at some point, he'd found a way to sway Dimitri – guileless, naïve, foolish Dimitri – to his side, then taken in that Agarthan deserter in order to create a power block of his own. Schemes upon schemes; he used the words so easily she'd dismissed them, taken then no more seriously than Lorenz's pompous and blatant attempts to usurp Alliance authority. Even after he told her that he had a dream he needed _**power **_to make reality!

He had power, all right. He had Dimitri.

He had _**Byleth**_...

She gritted her teeth, remembering how confused and fascinated the emotionless girl had been with him during the walk back – as if he wasn't being as mercenary as everyone else who had used her for their own gain before. She probably believed he actually valued her, not what she could do for him, and she was so loyal, so heartbreakingly protective and true, she would never turn against him even if the truth stared her in the face.

A beautiful, rare person, trapped in servitude to the goddess and to him.

“_Slave? Slave?! She's my **friend! **She. Is. My. FRIEND!”_

“Your Majesty-” Hubert started.

“It was a _failure,_” She stated bitterly. Lord, did it burn to say aloud. Failure wasn't an option. It was unacceptable! She didn't have the time, couldn't afford setbacks and couldn't afford to _not _take this path, or else all would turn to dust and Fodlan's cruel system would go on unabated for another thousand years. “I managed to salvage _something _out of this disaster, but it was a _failure, _and we only _survived _the dragon's attack thanks to my uncle's weapon. This was a complete defeat, Hubert. A defeat in the first battle after _**I **__declared war_. Do you know what this means?”

“It was hardly a significant victory, Your Majesty!” Hubert protested, reaching out to try and stop her pacing. She shrugged his arm off. “The damages we inflicted on the monastery were significant. The Knights of Serios are decimated.”

“Tell that to the hundreds of soldiers that we _lost _without fulfilling a single goal of the attack,” Edelgard retorted; she was so furious she was lightheaded, and she wasn't sure who she was more angry at – Hubert or herself. “We failed to capture the monastery. We failed to kill Claude or Dimitri. And while we _injured _that damnable dragon, we failed to _capture her _seeing as we were still _fleeing _from the combined forces of the other two kingdoms! The _combined _forces, Hubert! Do you know what that means?”

“Of course I do,” Her ever loyal companion responded, looking taken aback at best. Distantly Edelgard wasn't surprised by this. Surviving in the Empire before going to the officer's academy required absolute control over her emotions; she would never have been so childish as to loose control of her temper in front of men who would degrade her for it. But now those men were in prison, she was ruling and she was alone, and she just needed it.

“My own people have many worshipers of the false goddess,” Edelgard reminded him. “The church's roots run deep. How do I know their loyalties will not waver again in the wake of this disaster?”

“_Oh, goodness! Why on earth do you kneel? Stand up, please!”_

The words tasted like ash in her mouth, despite how easily they came to her. Sothis. It all came back to Sothis... could she not see that humanity didn't need her anymore? She showed compassion for Marianne rather than reinforcing her need for 'repentance' – did she not understand that the need to please her was the reason many suffered?

And yet – seeing her had caused a niggling doubt. She hated it, trying to drag it up by the roots.

Maybe Sothis wasn't the reason the Church of Serios existed, but humanity couldn't rely on her anymore, or something of its like would simply burst up in its place. Choking out wisdom for stagnation.

Surely a goddess could come to see that...

“I promised them glory. I promised them the reunion of the Empire. Yet I've fled from the first engagement in a war _**I started**_ with hundreds of deaths and _nothing _to show for them. Not counting the men who are sick from starvation thanks to the fires Claude and Constance started! We cannot muster an effective fighting force until they recover and the other men are called in.”

“Then we'll create time,” Hubert interjected desperately.

“Enough to stop the Kingdom and the Alliance from simply gathering their men and forcing their way to our gates?” Edelgard demanded. “Claude has built a positive relationship with Dimitri. If the Alliance decides to unify behind him, then half the _continent_ stands against us in the name of the old order. Meanwhile, all we have for allies are the _Agarthans_ and Brigid, who only serve us under pain of Petra's execution!”

“We make use of what they have,” Hubert insisted, outright placing his hands on her shoulders. “Use the javelins of light to damage Kingdom land. Send a big enough force to make them fear invasion, so they'll pull back and leave the Alliance in the lurch.”

“The javelins of light,” Edelgard repeated dully, not quite sure she believed her ears. “Those hideous things?”

Hubert nodded. “The Alliance can be fractured easily enough. Gloucester has always wanted to usurp the Riegans, and we threaten his border. With a carrot and stick approach, we should be able to make him and anyone else he can turn into allies. At the least we can turn Acheron into a useful wildcard. If they're obsessed with their own self-interests, they won't unite-”

“-They won't unite behind the Voice of the Goddess?” Edelgard repeated in a flinty voice, even as she considered the proposition Hubert was putting forward. “We both heard men of all flags calling the Professor that. Even the most self-serving of those lords present themselves as the humble servants of those close to the goddess.”

Or even the goddess herself. How could she possibly sway those who saw their precious goddess with their own two eyes with mere words and deeds? Byleth had been unmoved, and she had _cared_, had been one of the only people to ever care, _she could have been mine if not for him-_

“It is a good place to start,” Hubert said urgently. “If absolutely nothing else, the need to address the damage should by us -some- time.”

Edelgard stood in silence for a minute before pushing his hands off and walking away toward the throne again, her mind whirling furiously.

She hated how she was depending on the Agarthans. _Again. _Them and their horrific weapon. It was one thing to use it against the beast, but the other effects... She hated the necessity. She knew that it was one of her only cards to play and that made her stomach sink.

_I have to win after this. A victory without Agartha, to prove without a doubt that I'm not utterly dependent on them to win the war._

_Scheme a way around this, Claude. _

Even thinking about finally getting one over him didn't give her much pleasure when – once again – she was getting it from her alliance with Thales.

“_You don't hate it enough not to profit off it.” “You're the one preforming like a trained dog for them, while I betrayed them and now fight against them.”_

Edelgard bit her lip hard enough to taste blood.

How could that girl, of all people, not understand that she _had _to have all the powers of Fodlan to destroy Shamballa? She had to make them believe she was powerless against them, had to trick them into letting their guard down and feed their arrogance. It was the only way around their Javelins of Light! It was a necessary evil. _I am no dog! _

It was the only way to ensure that the deaths wouldn't be meaningless. Ensure that her brothers and sisters weren't sacrificed for nothing.

“_So with all the dead children of Remire in mind, the only thing I want to know is __**why. **__Why the hell are you doing this? Why are you helping them?”_

“Because there can only be one ruler of Fodlan,” She told the absent green-eyed menace as she calmly came to a decision. _I'll make it worth it. I __**will **__make it worth it. _“I am the one who will lead Fodlan out of the darkness its been trapped in for a thousand years.”

She was the only one who could; she was the only one who knew the truth.

She would make it worth it.

“Summon my uncle when he's finished having a tantrum.” Emperor Hresvelg ordered. Then she turned and began to walk out of the room, knowing Hubert would obey without question.

Once she moved through the doorway, she suddenly found herself confronted with Ferdinand and Caspar, both of whom looked rattled. “What happened?” Caspar demanded. “It's a nightmare out there. The hospitals are swelling with wounded.”

“You've decided to do something,” Ferdinand noted with a frown. “Shall we not discuss and debate it some before you go through with it? There may be other factors that you have not considered, as be-”

“I'll thank you not to finish that sentence, Ferdinand,” Edelgard said waspishly. She had to remain firm, had to remain strong. “I've devised the opening of our next attack. I'll inform you of your part when I have deduced it.”

She _would_ save Fodlan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert overexposed Game of Thrones meme here*
> 
> Seriously, Edelgard Knows Nothing. It's both tragic and infuriating because she loves to pull the I Know More Than You Sheeple card (borrowing that from one of you reviewers, you guys are great). 
> 
> Her ability to justify things to herself while either offloading the blame onto someone else (ie blaming Thales for Dimitri's death after she killed him herself in CF...) or justifying herself without acknowledging it. So I've been keeping these things in mind while writing her chapter, and I felt uncomfortable by the time I was done. I guess you can say she's an interesting character if she can do that to me.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri prepares and sets out for war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: So I'm off of canon rails. Where do I start the war phase now?
> 
> (thinks for two days)
> 
> Me: (gets a sudden epiphany) (best Hilda impression) Oh, I've got it! The muse is can be a fickle mistress, but she is generous in her offerings!

His father's crown felt heavy on Dimitri's head.

It took some time to resist the frequent urge to adjust the silver circlet, and longer to figure out exactly how to wear it so it didn't slide down over his eyes when he was sitting at a conference table and thinking hard. He projected confidence as much and as often as he could, but anxiety plagued him when he let his mind rest.

Could he truly be as good a king as his father?

“Orders straight from your grandfather, the honorable Lord Riegan,” The retainer who had interrupted their final strategy meeting told Claude. “I am too old to fight a war; while I feel my grandson is not quite old enough to be so burdened, this is the best choice I can make for our people. Bring this to him and inform him that he is in command of the armies and ascendant to the head of the family.”

Dimitri watched a thousand emotions flit across Claude's face as he hesitated, biting his bottom lip. It only lasted a second, however; then he pulled his usual mask down as sure as if it were a tangible thing and joked, “It _would_ take a continent-wide war to make gramps finally decide he was too old for this shit.” That earned a few chuckles across the table, though Gloucester just scowled. Dimitri neither liked nor trusted that man, and wondered how they might put him somewhere he was least problematic. “Right. Let's do this.”

The retainer bowed deeply; then, upon standing up, he lifted the package from the floor where it had lain and unwrapped it, revealing a blazing golden bow within. Claude took it in both hands, letting out a long breath as he looked down at it.

Failnaught had the general shape of a longbow, though (as with most relic weapons) it was lighter by far and formed magic arrows when its string was drawn back – so it would never run out of ammunition. The length of the bow wasn't smooth; it had bumps and ridges along its length that were odd in that he couldn't figure out what their purpose was. If they were just aesthetic, it was kind of strange...then again, all the relics had somewhat off-putting features.

“Thank you,” Claude murmured, turning Failnaught over in his hands one more time before dismissing the retainer and returning to his seat.

They had been using the dining hall tables as a meeting place, for lack of another large enough room that hadn't been badly damaged. The people sitting around the table were equally eclectic – the lords and their retainers were there, along with Byleth and Seteth, but alongside them were a number of students. Dorothea, looking extremely uncomfortable and clearly feeling out-of-place, was seated next to Linhardt and answering questions about Edelgard's preferred strategies and success patterns. (_It didn't help that Byleth had to low-key threaten Gloucester to stop him from needling her in a predatory and condescending manner._)

Atra was there, naturally – for all that Dimitri wouldn't look at her and stared down at his hands whenever she spoke up or answered questions. Yuri was lounging in the seat across from him, very much in the capacity of the youngest crime boss to rule the Empire's underworld. (_Dimitri was deeply uncomfortable with this side of the teen he considered a friend...it was hard to reconcile the warm and friendly man he knew with the Savage Mockingbird._) Holst and Judith were there, finally able to step away from sending out messages and tending to their troops in order to add their voices to the strategizing.

It was evident that they were missing a number of useful voices. Lord Gautier was protecting the Kingdom territory at home, holding the capital with Dimitri's uncle while sending some of his troops to the monastery with the instructions that they were to obey Sylvain's every command once they were assured of his safety. Lords Charon and Dominic had also initially stayed behind, but the latter was sending troops and pledged to travel himself once he was certain that the Kingdom was secure from potential counterattacks and a way to the Empire was open. In the Alliance, Lord Edmund had quickly sent a response pledging his support to them in the war; House Ordelia did the same – raising all the men and funds they could bring together to ensure that the war could be won.

_(He didn't know why Lysithea looked so pained when told this; maybe Byleth or even Atra would know.)_

Aside from them...there was no word from Lord Goneril himself yet, but Holst had already taken over most of his father's duties, so the men here would answer to him without hesitation. It also meant that, with Lord Gloucester's begrudging support, they could easily march straight across the Alliance – gaining more men and supplies as they went – to the Great Bridge of Myrrdin without facing any significant trouble.

Which was the subject of today's debate – did they pursue their fleeing enemy all the way to the gates of the Imperial Palace, or did they return home in fear of Agartha's potential retaliation?

“Your Majesty...I realize this might not be my place, but would it not be wiser for you to return to Firdihad?” Holst asked politely. “You're volunteering to enter some fairly heavy fighting.”

“I've given it a lot of thought over the past few days,” Dimitri acknowledged; he wasn't offended by the question, but he could see why Holst thought he might be. He knew that, as king, he had to project cold strength in front of those who were not his close friends – to an extent, anyway. There were other factors in his decision. “The King of Faerghus has fought at the head of his army since Loog succeeded from the Empire. With Areadbhar in hand, I see no reason to be the first exception. I trust my lord uncle to hold the capital for me until I return.”

“Lord Gautier will remain in the kingdom proper as well,” Rodrigue added. “He'll serve directly under the former Regent and ensure that we keep a unified front against potential incursions from the Empire in the upcoming days.”

“Would it not be wise for some troops and a lord from the Alliance to travel north and lend some assistance?” Judith suggested thoughtfully. “There's a strong preconception that we serve our own interests above everything, including common sense. And I wouldn't be surprised if Agartha starts replacing more and more of their regular troops with those artificial demonic beasts in the face of a united enemy. With that in mind, I think a physical representation of the alliance – in the form of Alliance troops providing additional protection – would help calm any potential fears of us being fair-weather allies.”

“We would appreciate that,” Lord Galetea said sincerely; over the course of the past few days, he'd gone from cautiously accepting of the alliance between the two kingdoms “Though are you sure you have the men to spare?”

Holst leaned back in his seat, looking conflicted. “I would offer to go myself, but my battalion isn't quite big enough to make a descent defending force.” Dimitri suspected the other man would rather remain closer to where his sister would be fighting... “Lady Judith, do you have anyone in particular in mind?”

“Lord Edmund has the largest army outside of the Riegan dukedom,” The brown-haired woman mused. “If anyone has men and retainers to spare, it would be him. The three of us should sit down and write the request, unless you think of someone better suited to the task.”

She pointedly side-eyed Lord Gloucester while she said that; the old man momentarily looked either outraged or constipated – it was kind of tell, at least for Dimitri. (_The power dynamics of the Alliance were still distinctly __**odd **__to him, even after Claude's many explanations._) Fortunately for the young king's nerves, the old man didn't offer any protest or interjection, merely nodding in agreement.

And thank goodness for that. Dimitri now saw where Lorenz had picked up his more unlikable character traits...and acknowledged that really, it was a miracle that the purple-haired boy wasn't a whole lot worse.

“Will all the students be going to war, along with us?” Holst asked, his face darkening.

Rodrigue momentarily closed his eyes in pain. Dimitri resisted the urge to wince, hating the knowledge that he was going to cause his foster father a good deal of worry and fear in the coming months. “Yes. We all decided that independently,” He answered firmly. Judging by the young lord's briefly pained expression, he'd already asked Hilda as much – but maybe hoped that she would change her mind. “We need every able soldier we can raise against the Empire.”

“You'll all be serving in the same company as Lady Byleth and the remaining Knights of Seiros, along with myself.” Seteth explained. “Since you've become accustomed to fighting as a single unit, I think this is a fairly sensible choice to make.”

Byleth let out a faintly startled noise. She'd been fairly quiet so far today; initially she'd done a lot of passive-aggressive interrupting in the name of keeping everyone on track instead of spiraling off into heated arguments about the potential safety on individual lands and other such nonsense. But once the lords were finally on the same page, she'd quieted down significantly and spent most of her time listening; frequently she'd almost looked anxious.

_That's the face a person makes when they're trying to compress years of political theory into a week-long learning experience, _Claude had remarked wryly. _Apparently it took me a little while before I was good at hiding that face from Judith. _

“You're joining the invasion force, Seteth?” She asked, blinking rapidly at him.

The green-haired bishop smiled faintly at her. “Yes. I'll leave the matter of rallying the faithful in Catherine's capable hands; if you and the students are going to war, then I can do no less.”

“That's reassuring,” Claude said. He was leaning back in his seat, his expression serious and contemplative as thousands of plots ran through his head one after another. Dimitri smiled faintly as he remembered how quickly and deeply his Khalid had impressed both Rodrigue and Lord Galetea with his strategic mind; raising many reasons that retaliating and pushing into Empire land with a large fraction of the army was the best way to keep both Edelgard and Thales off-balance and deprive them of time to regain their bearings. “The more talented people we have to throw at the Great Bridge of Myrrdin, the better.”

Everyone at the table nodded. It was common knowledge that the route toward the kingdom over the Oghma mountains was perilous at best, even when one wasn't fighting a war. Between that and Edelgard's clear and obvious intention to reconquer the Alliance regardless of their alignment (or lack thereof) with the church, common sense dictated that she would order the Empire's massive army to seize control of the largest bridge into their lands. Aside from (very likely) bribing/threatening Lord Gloucester into letting them pass without incident in exchange for not being sacked and an inroad into the 'new order', the Alliance offered a theoretically less treacherous path to the Kingdom.

'Theoretically' being the operative word there.

“If only we had a better idea where the Cult is primarily based,” Lord Gloucester muttered, eyeing Atra with distaste and distrust. The girl was unfazed by the look, tilting her head in curiosity. “Would it not make sense to attack them directly at the same time?”

“A war party from one land alone can't conquer Shamballa,” Atra responded quietly and in a chillingly matter-of-fact way. “The underground city is a great fortress, the mechanisms that are necessary to travel being difficult to master. And that aside, too many of their most prized weapons of war are all stored there; no, the city must be stormed in a joint effort, or risk all of this being for naught.”

“Their most prized weapons? You're not referring to their artificial demonic beasts,” Holst frowned, clearly wondering what could possibly be worse than that.

Atra closed her eyes for a moment, a shiver running down her spine. “Things the likes of which you won't see on the surface.” There was an old memory in those dark blue pools when they opened again. “Thales calls them the Titanus. Imagine a stone carved in the likeness of a man...a stone that stands as high as three houses stacked on top of each other. Give them, though various experiments, the same magical barrier that demonic beasts have; this allows them to resist magical attacks that would otherwise damage the runes holding them together. Given them immense magical power themselves; I do not know how, and suspect we would not like the answer. They're equipped with broadswords that allow them to attack at a distance.”

She pressed her back against the chair, grimacing. “I saw them a handful of times when I was young...they guard the entrance and exit to every level of Shamballa. I don't know if there are more, but they've had a long time to make them.”

Dimitri swallowed hard as a burst of incredulous and worried dialogue erupted across the table. It was hard to even picture these creations; the closest his mind could conjure was a picture from one of Ashe's fable books, in which a knight had to brave a vicious underground labyrinth full of mysterious monsters in order to rescue twin princesses. _Had the person who wrote it known about the Titanus?, _he wondered somewhat inanely.

“Do you know if they have any weak points?” Claude said, his tone business-like and his eyes sharp as knives. If he was as worried as the older lords, he gave no sign of it.

Atra bit her lip thoughtfully. “The joints in the limbs are vulnerable, I think,” she responded after a moment. “They have to carry a lot of weight, after all. Felix and Glenn could sever them for certain...the relics can likely do the same. But outside of that, I don't know.”

“Right,” The brunette leaned back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you have any sense of whether or not they'd have pulled up any of those monstrosities for the war?”

“It's entirely possible.”

“Glory,” Judith muttered. “Well, if they do, we'll eventually be able to storm Shamballa with some experience behind us.”

“It's wise to look at these things optimistically,” Rodrigue said ever so slightly dryly. Judith just smirked back at him, taking it easily. “If we've decided for certain on our course of action, perhaps we should prepare to move out?”

“I think that would be wise,” Lord Galetea offered.

Byleth nodded, standing up. This prompted everyone else to stand as well, and Dimitri caught the flicker of unhappiness/discomfort in her eyes. It was gone quickly, though, and she smiled confidently at the circle of lords. “Yes. It's time to begin our counterattack.”

They left the room in more or less two groups – Judith speaking to Rodrigue, Lord Galetea following in Dimitri's wake likely in the vain hope of convincing Ingrid to return home rather than accompany him and the others into war. Lord Gloucester quickly went off on his own, likely to find Lorenz; _hopefully he doesn't convince the purple-haired boy to do anything foolish. _Letting out a breath, Dimitri matched pace with Claude while the three of them made their way through the halls.

Garreg Mach was in a whirlwind of activity; knights, civilians, and villagers alike were finishing repairs, handing out supplies and hurrying to finish tending to the horses, pegasi and wyverns. Aside from the knights who would be joining Jeralt's Mercenaries as Byleth's honor guard (which included Shamir, by Catherine's order), the remainder of the Knights of Serios would be remaining at the monastery to guard it from potential counterattacks. Meanwhile, a large force of mixed Alliance/Kingdom troops would be accompanying Byleth on the journey through Leicester to the Bridge of Myrrdin. They would gather more troops along the way from the local lords, while another mixed force would go to the Kingdom to reinforce the border and guard against potential attacks of the Agarthan's machinations.

Time was of the essence; their countermove needed to begin in earnest before the bleeding Imperial army returned to their capital and recovered from their losses. Otherwise they were simply giving Edelgard and Thales more time to prepare.

A long march was ahead of them. At least it would be fairy uneventful.

_Hopefully, _his father noted dryly.

Dimitri tried not to grimace.

* * *

“Can I stop pretending to be calm for a moment?” Claude asked semi-sarcastically as they stepped out the front doors of the monastery, out into the field they'd fought in not so long ago. Already the signs of destruction were lessened, but the damage was still visible no matter where you looked.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Byleth responded; admirably, there was only a hint of the exhaustion she must be feeling from all the negotiating and mediating she'd done so far.

Claude grumbled something imperceptible. Amazingly, the sound made Dimitri smile ever so slightly.

“Wait until we make camp for the night,” He told his prince. “Then, I promise, we can find a moment to relax.”

“Being a lord is overrated.” The brunette grumbled. His fingers tapped impatiently against Failnaught's length; trying to expel some of that nervous energy in a low-key way, no doubt.

“You don't believe that,” The king chided, even as he felt his smile deepen.

Claude gave him a mock-betrayed look and pouted. “Clearly I've told you too many of my secrets. I can't hide things from you anymore.”

Byleth giggled a bit. Claude flashed her and him a brief yet bright smile at that, and Dimitri spent one second reaching over and squeezing his wrist gratefully.

_You're always trying to keep our moods up...I hope I can do the same sometime..._

_It would be about time you tried, _his stepmother noted.

Atra might have said something, but Dimitri missed it. Fortunately, he was able to ignore her whenever he wasn't directly involved in the conversation. She was also walking slightly behind them, so he didn't have to avoid looking at her quite so much.

“Professor!” Lysithea's voice rose above the chatter in the yard; the white haired girl was waving her arms above her head, trying to direct them over. Unfortunately she was hard to pick out of the crowd of people going to and fro; she must have known this, because a moment later Balthus walked by, picked her up by the waist and held her up so she couldn't be missed. Byleth let out another snort of amusement at the sight and picked up the pace until the four of them reached their two friends. “You're finally out! What's the word? Can we finally go?”

“Yes, we have the word, but we have to wait for Lord Rodrigue, Lady Judith and Sir Shamir to muster their forces and join us.” Byleth said patiently. Lysithea scowled a bit at that, but bowed to the necessity. “We're going to travel through Leicester to the Great Bridge of Myrrdin to reinforce it before entering Empire territory. We'll be picking up more forces along the way, _I hope anyway._” She muttered the last part, her brow furrowed. Then she cocked her head, realizing she'd just remembered something. “Incidentally Balthus, don't worry about traveling through the Alliance. I paid your debt to Gloucester and the rest should be more concerned about potential invasion and subjugation than chasing after your old payments.”

“You _paid_-” Balthus goggled at her for a second before running his hand down his face. “Geez, Prof, I didn't know I had to _tell _you not to do stuff like that...”

“Well, I've done it, so a 'thank you' would be nice,” Byleth retorted, her tone dry but her eyes lighter with amusement.

She was smiling in a similar way to Sothis – was she doing it on purpose, or was she even quoting the goddess directly? Sothis swung so easily between endless gentle wisdom and childish sarcasm he honestly wouldn't be surprised.

“...Thanks,” The huge brawler said sheepishly, seconds after being elbowed by Lysithea. “Yuri and Ingrid are just finishing the packing with Robb; food, armor, weapons, metal for reforging, money, the works. We're close to being ready to roll.”

“So Yuri has decided to come along...” Byleth murmured, pressing one hand against her chest.

Dimitri was touched by the gesture as well...knowing that Yuri was the de-facto guardian of Abyss and all within, the fact that he trusted Byleth with their safety – trusted her enough that Catherine's sworn promise to her that Abyss would be protected and not abandoned for any reason was enough for him – and felt compelled to join them in the war was humbling indeed. This went for all the wolves to an extent, but him most of all.

“Well, you can come see for yourself if you don't believe me,” Balthus responded with a grin.

“Everyone's waiting in the stables,” Lysithea added, crossing her arms. “We're all tired of waiting.”

_I think it's more likely we're so anxious we want to leave as soon as possible, if only so the travel can provide some distraction, _Dimitri thought, looking down at the girl's pale hands. Her posture hid it, but he thought he might have seen them trembling. Naturally she saw him and jutted her chin out defiantly, even though her eyes were cloudy. _Even now, you don't want to admit to weakness...it's not weakness to be afraid of what's to come, Lysithea..._

_If you weren't at least a little afraid of what the war might turn you into, I might have to call you a fool. _

“We'd better catch up then, huh?” Claude said. “We have time for one last speech before the rest start to join us.”

Atra hummed in agreement. Byleth's expression clouded over slightly, and she nodded to Lysithea before starting to make her way to the stables. Dimitri followed after her, a little concerned but suspecting what was on her mind.

The stables were as much a whirlwind of motion as the courtyard. It was essentially packed to capacity, with many more horses and pegasi having been put in hastily made temporary shelters elsewhere on the monastery. Robb, Hannah, and the rest of Jeralt's Mercenaries were going in and out of the far exit, their arms full of various supplies for the caravans. The rest were helping the former students equip various mounts for the trip; Dorothea was hovering near Sylvain who was patting the nose of his horse, while Linhardt was standing near Hapi and apparently in an animated conversation with her. Bernadetta and Marianne were together, alongside Felix and Glenn – likely they'd be riding together for the trip at least. Hilda was chattering at Ashe and Ingrid, Leonie conversing with Lorenz and adjusting the saddle he'd placed on the back of his horse.

(_Lorenz had spoken at length about becoming a Dark Knight before, but he hadn't considered himself properly prepared until now. Maybe he still didn't think he was, but knew he had to be._)

Raphael was patting Ignatz on the back as the green-haired assassin helped Flayn up onto the back of his horse. Apparently the young priestess had some experience with riding, but hadn't in a while, so she wanted to test the waters. Yuri was leaning against the wall, saying something to Ashe that made the younger boy blush and stammer with a grin on his face; Constance, meanwhile, was discussing something with Falrie near the stall her pegasus was within. Annette and Mercedes were offering Dedue something Dimitri couldn't quite see from where he was standing; he could swear that his friend looked a little abashed by whatever he was being offered, though.

“Everyone,” Byleth called out, then hesitated. Nevertheless, this gave her the attention of the entire stable.

She stayed silent for a moment, eyes closed. Whatever she and Sothis said to each other in that moment, it gave her the words she was looking for. “I'd rather send the lot of you home,” she confessed, “not because I want anyone else at my side for this war – I don't. I can't imagine fighting alongside anyone else. But the reality of war...is the fact that any one of us can die in the future if we depart from here, despite our best efforts. I still have limits, despite my transformation, and I can't guarantee your survival to the end of this conflict.” She took a deep breath. “So I want you to know, that if anyone here wants to step away from the front lines...speak now, and I'll ensure you return home.”

There was a single second of silence; then Yuri chuckled. “Do you really think you're going anywhere without us, Professor?” He asked in amusement. His smile was kind, though; Dimitri could tell he appreciated the sentiment and the offer.

“You're so silly, Prof!” Hilda laughed, skipping towards her and wrapping her and a hug. “Of course we're going with you! Who else is going to make sure you take care of yourself?”

“Nothing in life is guaranteed,” Ignatz said. His voice didn't shake at all, instead it carried a strong note of confidence. “Whatever comes to pass, I'd rather be at my friend's side than anywhere else.”

“It would hardly be befitting for Captain Jeralt's apprentice to back out now,” Leonie said, pumping her first. “Where you go, I go, Professor. You remember that.”

“Kid, you really should know this already.” Robb said with a faint smile as other cheers and voices raised in agreement filled the air.

“I do know,” Byleth managed, squeezing her eyes shut. Dimitri noticed in alarm that there were tears at the edges of her eyes. “I just had to make it clear the option existed. But if this is the path we all choose...”

She clapped her hands together. “Let's prepare to move out.” It wasn't a call to action; it was a solemn declaration. One of the many things that made her different from _that witch, _and something he admired deeply in her.

* * *

Dimitri leaned against the tree trunk, staring up at the star-studded sky.

His back ached from the long days spent on horseback. They'd traveled for weeks until they reached about halfway through Edmund territory. True to Byleth's words, their group had been steadily gathering more troops as they moved from territory to territory; the army numbers had swelled to a very respectable number, though they weren't traveling in a single unit by virtue of the various towns not being equipped to shelter them all. Since they were in allied territory, there was no harm in splitting their army into a few separate divisions as they made their way to the Great Bridge.

Peaceful travel was a blessing...and yet it didn't seem to soothe his anxieties as much as it did for the others. He tilted his head, watching the crackling fire in the pit snap and dance in the silence. Most of his friends were asleep in a semi-circle around the bonfire, their mounts tethered not far away. He wasn't the only person on watch (_he'd volunteered, and politely insisted when some tried to insist he was too highly-ranked for such a task_), but he was fairly removed from the few watchmen who were striking up conversation.

_You should be resting, _his father remarked. _Tired warriors do not last long. _

_I'll sleep eventually, I promise. _

The night sky was beautiful. Dimitri blew out a long breath, enjoying the cool air as he breathed it in. It cleared his head a little bit. The stars glowed like jewels far above them; he looked for familiar shapes through the open patches of the treetops.

“Couldn't sleep?”

Glenn's voice was soft and sympathetic; the young king started slightly and turned his head to see his old friend carefully step around Felix and Bernadetta before coming to his side. Sliding down the tree so they were sitting side by side, Glenn asked, “Bad dreams?”

“I'm not a child anymore,” Dimitri murmured, looking away.

“That's not an answer,” Glenn said, rolling his eyes. “I had plenty of nightmares after that night. I both dreaded and wanted them.”

“You wanted...?” Dimitri started, staring at him for a second. Then it hit him. “Seeing that night again and again in your mind-”

“Yeah. I hoped that, if I could just figure out who I was trying to protect, that would kick a door open in my brain. Of course, remembering the night meant remembering the pain...though I think my mind was still blunting it.” Glenn looked over at Felix. “It feels so good to have some memories back. I don't feel quite so much like a stranger who stole a dead man's body.”

“I never...” Dimitri started to protest, but when he saw Glenn's tired expression, he switched tact and grasped his hands. “I'm so glad you're alive, Glenn. Memories or no memories, knowing someone else survived – knowing that saving me didn't _kill you_-” His voice cracked a bit. “I'm so glad of it.”

“Do you know why I did it?” Glenn asked, squeezing back. “It wasn't because I was your knight, or that I felt obligated to. It was because I love you; my little brat brother. A choice between running and maybe saving myself, and risking everything to save you is not a choice at all.”

Dimitri felt a lance of tangled emotions stab through his chest; without thinking about it, he leaned against Glenn and rested his head on his shoulder as he'd done so many times when he was a child. “You don't actually think I blame you for anything, do you?” Glenn asked. _He must have talked to Felix about this at some point, why else would he ask? _“I don't. I wouldn't. Whatever happened then and whatever happens next, is my choice.” He ruffled Dimitri's hair fondly. “Don't take responsibility for my choices. Or anyone else's, really. You're going to go crazy, thinking like that.”

Glenn's eyes flickered elsewhere in the field; Dimitri wondered if he was aiming that remark at Atra as well. He couldn't bring himself to ask, though. He couldn't really bring himself to think about her at all. “Telling your king what to do now, are you?” He tried to make it a joke.

“Crown or no crown, you haven't changed at all.” Glenn retorted easily. “I'll be a perfect knight when people are watching; the rest of the time? You're mine, brat.”

Dimitri let out a little chuckle. The headache that had been bothering him all day was going away a bit. He let his eyes fall on Felix where he was sleeping near Bernadetta. “Has Felix talked to you about Bernadetta at all?” He asked curiously.

Glenn snorted. “Felix, come to me about a girl? We're talking about the same boy here, right?”

“Haha...true. Still...I thought they might be rather mismatched when he first approached her.” His smile widened a bit when he remembered that...interesting start to a relationship during the victory feast. “Yet she seems to like spending time with him.”

“I think they can learn a lot from each other. I don't know her as well, obviously, but she seems to be more confident when he's nearby.” Glenn said. “It's good to know that between him, Byleth and Claude, she's guaranteed to have a place for herself after the war.”

“Indeed,” Dimitri agreed quietly.

He started to ask something else when something caught his eye. Something overhead-

It was almost too quick to truly be seen. A massive, blazing star flying overhead, leaving a trail of white smoke behind it that slowly dissipated. It flew by in seconds, a strange noise crackling over the treetops in its wake.

“What was that?” He asked, startled.

“My brain says it's a shooting star,” Glenn said slowly, “but my paranoia says it's something worse.”

A rumbling, earth-shaking chuckle shook the very ground beneath them – echoing from the forest behind them. Both boys jumped to their feet, instantly going for their weapons; Glenn pointed the glowing Sword of Moralta into the darkness, his eyes warily scanning the foliage.

There was another rumble...like something massive hitting the earth. The snap-crackle-_crash_ that followed – like dozens of trees being knocked over – woke a dozen of their friends at once; it was so loud it was amazing anyone managed to sleep through it. Something enormous shifted in that darkness; a pair of large, ruby-red eyes lit up like blazing lanterns.

“_**Worse and Worse, indeed.” **_A thundering voice responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (grin) You thought I forgot about our favorite monster, didn't you? Didn't you? (giggles gleefully) I remembered~! 
> 
> On another note, I've had a few people ask me in the comments if they can draw artwork and comics for this story. To which I reiterate my answer - yes yes yes! Yes please! You guys are so awesome! I would love any and all fanart! There are dozens of scenes I'd love to see single scenes or even comics drawn of them. I have the most amazing readers!


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude recognizes a very old man and the former students try to get their bearings.

Could they really not have something go their way before fate came to kick them in the gut once again?

The ground shaking was what initially roused Claude from his sleep; the thundering voice drove all sleepiness from his brain. He jumped to his feet, scrambling for his bow and quiver; he wasn't the only one either. Byleth, Hannah and Robb were on their feet instantly; meanwhile Bernie, Ashe, Marianne and the others scrambled to keep up.

For one scary moment, he couldn't figure out what Dimitri and Glenn were facing off with – it was the middle of the night, the darkness of the forest only broken up by the camp's various fires and torches. He took a few steps forward to join the blonde, staring over his shoulder into the inky blackness of the forest-

_Ohgeeze!_

Huge red eyes glowed in the dark – literally glowed; there was no other way to describe it. They were set in a huge face that was shadowed heavily; he couldn't see the body...even though when the owner of the eyes snorted, sending a wave of hot air blasting into his face – proving whatever or _whoever _this was, they were very close.

Trees crackled and splintered. Claude could hear something massive slowly sweeping over the earth, uprooting or breaking everything it touched. _A demonic beast? But why's it just sitting there instead of attacking the camp while we were sleeping? And who spoke? I can't see a person in there, and who would be dumb enough to stand that close to a demonic beast anyway? _

“Who goes there?” Dimitri demanded.

There was a brief pause, in which their other friends rushed around them. Felix appeared on Glenn's right, the Aegis Shield glittering in the firelight; Marianne scrambled up behind Byleth as she made her way through the crowd, one hand on the Creator's Sword. Seteth rushed up from who-knows-where, coming up behind Ingrid who unsheathed Luin and pointed it with a slightly shaky hand at the treeline. Sylvain joined Felix and Bernadetta a moment later, the Lance of Ruin at the ready. Hilda yanked Balthus to his feet, one hand on Friekugel as Ashe and Ignatz formed a back line and readied their bows. Hapi swallowed hard, pressing two fingers against her lips to muffle her reaction; Yuri and Atra took point in the middle, between her and the archers but behind Byleth and the front linters. Balthus, Hannah and Robb rounded out the force, taking point on either side so the force was flexible.

Somewhere in the back of Claude's mind, he noted that this was the first time in literal centuries that so many Heroes Relics were being wielded by the same army. Undoubtedly the historians would make a big deal out of that...but it was justified.

No wonder Rodrigue and Judith were willing to leave parts of the combined army behind to guard the homeland, despite the Empire's theoretical might; all this destructive power in one place was scary to think about having as an enemy.

A deep, rumbling laugh snapped him out of his whirling thoughts. _**“A dead man,**_” The voice responded.

Then their visitor took a titanic step forward, bringing themselves into the light.

Claude choked on a dozen curses, stumbling backward. A shot of honest-to-Sothis _terror _rushed through his veins like ice water; he could only imagine how pale he'd gotten, and judging by the various horrified shrieks from the Alliance soldiers who'd hurried to join them, he wasn't alone.

One might call the Wandering Beast gigantic; a good word for him, even though it felt staggeringly inadequate at the moment. He towered over his fellow demonic beasts, making them seem puny by comparison; the trees barely contained his scaly hide; his legs were bigger than horses, his claws longer than broadswords. His scaly hide was gray as stone and even in the low light, Claude could see broken spears, swords and arrows wedged uselessly in what little give there was. That wasn't to say the monolithic enemy before them had no scars at all; there was a long burnt score on his chest left by Failnaught; the only success of the last attempt by the Alliance to slay their demon. The Wandering Beast had been crouching down to something like eye level; now that he was closer to them, he lowered his massive head to look Dimitri more-or-less in the eye.

“_**...That face...I haven't seen those eyes in a long, long time. Determined. Haunted. Fearless. I knew they would carry down.” **_

Dimitri choked. “You...You _spoke..._” Glenn nudged the blonde back a step, still holding the saint's sword at the monster's face. Claude forcibly swallowed and flexed his fingers to get the feeling back in them. “Beasts never speak – they _can't_ -”

“What are you?” Marianne whispered. “Are...are you the Wandering Beast?”

The Wanderer's eyes flickered over towards her. His nose flared; those massive red eyes blinked, and he leaned forward somewhat, giving her the whole of his attention.

“Stay back!” Byleth warned him with a snarl, drawing the Sword of the Creator. “You won't touch her.”

“_**You. You carry our Crest.” **_The Beast said. _Was that a note of resignation in his voice?_

“Our Crest?” Marianne repeated, staring up at him.

The Beast flicked his tail and snorted. Claude might have called the emotion tired amusement, but it was just so incongruous to assign emotions like that to this creature that he wondered if fear was scrambling his brain. “_**Did your underground benefactor not tell you?” **_He asked. His eyes flickered over to Atra, who'd taken a shocked step backward. “_**Do not bother, girl. I can **_**smell**_** you; earth and metal. It clings to you even now. I remember...even when the last of my humanity is burned away, that scent will be burned into the black matter of my **_**brain.**_**” **_

The last word came out as a strangled snarl, like he was choking on his last words. The Wandering Beast shuddered; his claws dug deep into the earth as he took in a deep breath. The students and soldiers tensed virtually as one, but once again...no attack came.

“She's not one of them anymore,” Yuri responded in an admirably calm voice. Claude would have to ask him later how he managed to speak as if he was discussing the weather. “She's ours now.”

The Beast tilted his head a bit before snorting in what was almost certainly amusement. “_**Is that so?**_”

This was surreal. This was _beyond _surreal. _We're having a conversation with a demonic beast...none of the myths ever suggested he could __**speak**__...! Wait, he __**knows **__about Agartha?! How?! And why him?! ...He must have been human at some point, but when? Stories about him go back to the founding of the Alliance, some even further..._

_Wait. He said that Marianne bears 'our' Crest. As in, he had it too. ...Marianne's Crest is the Crest of Maurice, one that causes them uncontrollable transformations into a demonic beast form... He's been in the woods for years, even dating back to before the Alliance... is this...?_

“Maurice.” The name slipped out of his lips without conscious thought.

Those red eyes were on him instantly. He heard Marianne gasp in shock and understanding, even as a general rumble of confusion sounded from everyone who hadn't seen the quiet blue-haired girl transform that evening in the Sealed Forest.

A shaky laugh escaped his lips; he felt himself smile up at the titanic being in front of him, even though nothing about this situation was funny. “We've been calling you the Wandering Beast all this time...but I think I know your name. Maurice; the Elite that was written out of history for bearing a power that brought disaster.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seteth's head snap toward him and give him an unreadable look. Well, at least unreadable from this angle; Claude couldn't have torn his gaze away from what was in front of him if he tried.

“_**...Maurice... There is a name that takes me back,**_” The monster – _Maurice, _somehow, in spite of the sheer impossibility – mused as he examined him. _**“It has been so long...I thought I would never hear it again.” **_

“It really is you?” Byleth asked, faintly disbelieving even as she stepped forward, her sword lowering just a bit. “How is that possible?”

“Don't speak to him,” Seteth snapped out suddenly. His voice was fierce and full of anger despite how level it was. “He's too dangerous to engage. He'll kill all of us; be ready to fight!”

Maurice's red eyes flickered over to the green-haired man. Claude heard the _crackle-snap-crash _of his tail thrashing again. _**“My beastly blood sleeps, for now....Cichol. These little moments of respite are all that are left of the man you once knew of.”**_

_Cichol? _Claude thought blankly. _Seteth has the Crest, but...really? I know old people might well to mistake generations for each other, but...no, that's crazy. Is it? _

“You haven't attacked us,” Marianne noted, completely ignoring this byplay while taking a hesitate step forward. Toward her ancestor, her great-however-many-times-grandfather, the greatest and most terrible of all demonic beasts. (_Goddess above, what was this life becoming?_) Byleth firmly put her free arm out in front of her, remaining between her and Maurice even as everyone else turn to stare at Seteth for a few seconds. She didn't prevent the blue-haired girl from speaking though...from seeking answers. “Is...is there something that you want? Did – did you know I – that _we_ were coming?”

She winced at her misstep, and Claude fervently prayed that the soldiers still lingering with them, paralyzed by the macabre and strange scenario playing out before their eyes, would forget about it in all this excitement.

“_**No. They came to me, not long ago.” **_Maurice snorted. **_“They came as they did so many years ago, when I was a child struggling to free myself from the wreckage of my house and the corpses of my parents that pinned me beneath them. They came again, swearing to give me all that I desired and more if I would once again be their _monster_.” _**

“Wait...what?” Linhardt found his voice then; nudging his way past Balthus to get a better look at Maurice. “You were one of the Elites, weren't you? Why would the Agarthans have come to you?”

“_**They came to us first. Serios, Cichol, Indech and Macuil came later.” **_Maurice's claws dug at the earth again. **_“I was alone. I was starving. I lived in a Fodlan that had no rulers, that was blooming for the first time since the Catastrophe. So when they swore they would make me a god, I went with them.” _**He laughed, a scratchy, utterly indescribable sound that made Claude shudder so badly he nearly dropped Failnaught. Bernadetta actually swayed in terror and nearly collapsed, grabbing onto Felix's arm for support. _**“If this is godhood, then what is in the Eternal Flames?” **_

He lowered his head again, so he was looking Marianne more-or-less in the eye. Byleth snapped her fingers, and their friends quickly – discreetly – shifted their positions so they were surrounding the young holy knight or at least able to easily reach her. _**“You want to know why you were cursed...it is not a curse that poisons you blood, but their weapon. The blood and the bones that became our Crest were tainted by the flames that are unleashed by the lance that flies through the sky; which flew above you this very night. That poison remained potent, despite the generations between us.”**_

“Poison...” Claude cleared his thought, his mind buzzing at the implications. “Hey Maurice...what actually happened back then? The stories say that the goddess gave you and the others your Crests, and the heroes relics.”

“_**...They said that? Truly?” **_Maurice let out a wracking, trembling keening noise. A massive number of tangled emotions echoed through the air; Claude thought he might have heard bitterness, and regret – and disbelief, the last one most tangible of all. **_“There was nothing holy about that night, Ren.”_**

That name jolted him badly. Ren, from the journal. _Ren von Riegan...? All this time, I was reading the words of my ancestor without realizing it...all the official history books just use his last name as if it was his only name, like all villagers do. _He felt his heartbeat pick up, excitement beginning to mingle with the fear he'd been experiencing.

“Poisoned?” Marianne repeated, her hands clasped in front of her. “B-But poison can be cured...can't it?”

“Is that why they came to you?” Byleth asked. Her fingers tapped against the Sword's hilt. “Did they claim they could turn you back into a human?”

“_**That they did.” **_Maurice snorted. “**_My humanity was renounced before these scales and claws replaced my flesh and fingers. For centuries I have thirsted for blood and flesh, I have walked on four legs, the screams of the beasts more clear to me than the voices of men. Madness comes and goes from my mind like waves on a beach. I have eaten humans when my blood roared in my ears, returned to what little sense remained with me to taste their blood on my tongue. No, dragon girl – there is no saving me. And even if there was...I would leave it to my child. There is nothing for me here – nothing but to clean up loose ends.”_**

“Are you..._offering to help us_?” Seteth asked in an incredulous and very strained voice. Claude's eyes flickered toward him for a moment; the bishop was shaking, and there was no hiding how much the older man loathed the idea.

_What's up with that? _

“_**If I destroy the doors of Shamballa, open the way for you and your people, will you liberate me?” **_Maurice ignored him, eyes trained on Byleth.

“You think you need to bribe me to give you peace after a thousand years?” His darling mercenary asked curiously, tilting her head to look up at him.

“_**If Cichol had told you the truth, I imagined I would.” **_Maurice responded. He growled low. **_“My beastly blood is bubbling, dragon girl. You have too much to do to waste your army on a forest full of beasts, breaking their spears upon my hide. Will you do this?”_**

“_I will give you peace_,” Byleth retorted fiercely, only a flicker of confusion crossing her face.

“_**Then go,” **_Maurice gasped out. Claude noted with growing alarm that the Wandering Beast was kneading at the ground anxiously; **_“Go with your men, while what little humanity I have left still lingers within me!”_**

Howls in the distance – dogs and scaled beasts alike, they each made distinctive noises – drew a flood of swearing from Byleth and Hannah. That seemed to disengage a number of people out of the varying states of shock they'd been in.

Byleth stared at him for a moment before declaring, “Everyone go to the mounts! Put out the fires, take the torches, get ready for a fast march!”

“Lady Byleth?!” Seteth asked in disbelief.

“If we're going to fight the Empire with these forces in the near future, Seteth, can we afford to fight Maurice and a forest full of Demonic Beasts here right now?!” Byleth asked him in response, a question that was about as entreating as it was indignant. Meanwhile, everyone else had rushed to obey her; Byleth gestured for the students to stay. As the wielders of the hero's relics, they had the only ones who had a prayer of doing any real damage to the historical monster before them.

Maurice had retreated multiple steps backward, his claws digging violently into the earth. The thrashing of his tail became more and more fast and erratic; tension was growing and boiling up beneath his muscles. Claude realized with a sinking feeling that this looked familiar; Marianne had trembled and swayed on the spot before her crest-induced transformation kicked in. _Oh bother. _

Marianne swallowed next to him; she was whispering words that he couldn't hear over the whirlwind of movement behind them as the army scrambled to move out. There was a pale glow of magic around her hands; whether she was readying for a fight or her blood was reacting to the being before her, he couldn't tell.

Ivory let out a trilling call; moments later, she landed just behind his back. Grimacing, Claude muttered 'start backing up, guys,' as he backpedaled slowly but surely, the carefully swung up onto her saddle. (_Thank you, Hannah_.) He offered a hand to Byleth; Glenn and Felix had Dimitri, leading him back to a horse while Bernadetta was already up on Nico's back, terror plain in her eyes.

Maurice's eyes blazed in the dark, hunger was beginning to boil in them, his massive mouth opening so a long, rope-like tongue pooled out and licked his lance-length fangs. There was very little that looked human in that face...but Claude could see a trace of it, a hint of the boy he'd read about in those letters, in those deep, dark eyes.

As the camp emptied, Maurice let out a long, low snarl. And that flicker of humanity vanished into reptilian slits; Seteth climbed onto his wyvern, and with everyone ready, horses, pegasi and wyvern alike all took off as fast as their legs would carry them.

Byleth, having jumped up onto Ivory's saddle right behind him, had twisted and lashed out with the Sword of the Creator, tearing up the ground and sending dirt and dust into the air. With that as a smokescreen, they left the Wandering Beast in their wake.

Above the roars and howls of the beasts they new, an earsplitting, tortured shriek broke the silence of the night.

It sent a shiver right into Claude's soul.

* * *

It wasn't until they had fled the forest and marched two full days out of Edmund territory before Claude's mind hooked itself on the remark that the Agarthans had approached Maurice and all that implied.

Hilda looked up from cleaning Freikugel at the choice curse words he let out at _that _little informational nugget. “What's the matter, fearless leader?” She asked jokingly. Cyril blinked twice, shifting a bit on the log he was sitting on. Lysithea had fallen asleep on his lap and he wasn't in a hurry to dislodge her.

“You know, once I got over the fact that a man who became a demonic beast a thousand years ago, it occurred to me that I didn't think to ask him about Agartha.” Claude complained, hitting the flat of his palm against his forehead. “Of course I'd only remember something that important after we'd run away.”

“I was so stunned, I didn't think of it either.” Atra murmured, poking at the fire they were sitting around with a stick. “I've seen a lot of demonic beasts before, but none of them could speak or reason. Even those who had been transformed from humans mere moments ago acted purely on animal instinct.”

“I think 'Talking Demonic Beast who used to be an Elite' is enough of a reason to forget something,” Sylvain said easily, rubbing one shoulder and wincing. “Did you hear how many beasts started howling out of _nowhere _before he told us to leg it? I seriously thought we were gonna die for a minute there.”

“He was surprisingly eloquent for a monster who'd been locked away from human society for literal centuries,” Yuri commented, emerging from one of the tents with a plate of cookies and cheese. General cheer met his appearance as he started making his way around the wide circle. “Once a while back, my people alerted me about a young woman who'd been imprisoned in a lord's cellar for over two years without any human company. When I went to free her, she couldn't say more than a handful of coherent words.” He offered the plate to Claude when he reached him.

“I hope you poisoned him,” Dorothea said bitterly, looking down at her hands. Linhardt sat next to her, nudging her occasionally and trying to improve her mood.

“I gave proof of his embezzlement to one of his rivals, does that count?” Yuri asked lightly as Claude accepted two cookies and a piece of cheese.

“At least it's something,” The singer allowed.

“And two years has nothing on two hundred, let alone a thousand. Yet he could still talk and sounded relatively sane...at least until he started to have a fit and told us to run before he ate us,” Raphael remarked, his voice petering out a bit at the end.

“He said that we couldn't waste spears on his hide. So he wants us to win?” Hilda wondered.

“What he truly wants is to die,” Marianne responded quietly.

Everyone turned to look at her, quieting down. The blue-haired priestess was staring at the fire, her hands clasped in her lap; her expression was distant and tired. She at least didn't seem very shaken; only contemplative.

“...Are you sure?” Claude asked hesitantly.

He really didn't like the completely confident nod he got in response. For Marianne to be so certain, with comparatively vague words to go on...

“Yes. The Sword of the Creator is infused with the power of the goddess. If anything can pierce through his hide and finally send him on his way, it would be that blade.” Marianne said. “Seteth...whatever he's done before, he deserves that much now, doesn't he?”

It sounded like she was asking as much for herself as she was for him.

And maybe Seteth sensed that, even from where he stood behind Flayn at the edge of their circle. His expression was cleansed of lingering darkness, and he nodded. “That is the compassionate answer, Marianne. Yes. Whether he will keep his end of this 'bargain' – well, I hope Lord Edmund has men to spare to keep an eye on those woods.”

Claude tilted his head and stared intently at the green-haired man as he munched on the sweet offering. _You definitely acted like you knew him. You're not an easily offended man, and you __**really **__hated him the instant I called him Maurice. The question is – how? He called you Cichol...I guess my theory that you and Flayn are descended from the saints has more water than she insisted. I'm getting closer to the truth – just you wait!_

As if he could feel Claude's eyes on him, Seteth glanced at him, eyebrows tabled. He smiled innocently; Seteth regarded him warily for a moment before looking away. _You're still no fun, _the young prince thought, resisting the urge to pout.

“Are you alright, Marianne?” Dimitri asked quietly, bringing his attention back to the present.

“Oh...” Marianne blinked a few times and then nodded. “Yes, thank you. I'm a little shaken...I can hardly believe what we saw in that forest...but I'll be alright.”

“I'm wondering...what Maurice said about the Agarthans and when they found him,” Ashe said. “I know that the Elites served Nemesis before he fell to darkness, but if the Agarthans had been there too, wouldn't there have been some record of it?”

“Not if they were deliberately removed from the books,” Byleth said tiredly. Claude turned and waved for her to sit next to him; she smiled faintly and made her way toward him.

She must have had a pretty interesting conversation with Rodrigue and Judith about what had happened before they reached the rendezvous point. “No matter what the truth is, right now all we have is conjecture. We're not likely to get any significant answers unless we capture someone higher up the ranks than Atra was.”

“How far away are we from the damned bridge?” Felix complained, waving Yuri away when he offered the sweet plate to him. Bernadetta, meanwhile, snatched at least three cookies and frantically waved for the purple-haired boy to sit on her other side. With only a brief second of hesitation, Yuri did just that. “We've been marching for weeks now.”

“Are you that eager to go back to war?” Dorothea asked bleakly.

Felix looked away, uncomfortable. Glenn shook his head and came to his brother's rescue. “Every battle we win is one step closer to the end of the war,” he told her. “In that sense, I can't deny I'm a little eager to stop marching and start fighting. The quiet before a battle always got to me.”

“I know. It's peaceful-but-not-peaceful. You're just waiting for something horrible to happen,” Bernadetta mumbled, looking down at her feet. “I'd almost rather have someone swinging a sword at my face. At least I can do something about that!”

Claude watched the discomfort and understanding flicker across the faces of his friends. An awkward silence fell as Yuri absently ruffled Bernie's hair to comfort her; Mercedes closed her eyes and Annette began humming a little tune he'd heard her use to calm his nerves before. It was little wonder. Everyone had been trying not to think about the elephant in the room since their battle at Garreg Mach; as confident as they were in Teach, as ready as they were to fight for their homes...that siege had been a major kick in the perspective.

Claude still couldn't begin to estimate how many people he killed over the course of that day; Teach had easily killed three times as many with the new power of the Creator's Sword. Lysithea and Constance were neck in neck for kills, if you didn't count anyone who was consumed by the bonfires the latter's Bolting started. Who even _knew_ how many people fell to Dimitri's lance... Everyone else had at least a double-digit body count, and realizing that it would have to get higher before this war was done...the realization was sickening.

He couldn't let his friends fall into despair, could he?

“Hey Teach, remember when you were first holding Sky Watch and a wyvern took off with Lorenz still holding the reigns?”

The question had the precise effect he hoped it would – Lorenz sputtered in protest, Lysithea burst out laughing, and even Marianne had to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle her own giggles at the memory. Grinning, Claude leaned back a bit and began to regale the Blue Lions about some of the first riding lessons Byleth had arranged for them to attend; Lorenz protested the whole way, but even he fell to the inherent amusement of some of the situations that had unfolded. Soon everyone was laughing – even Dimitri and Marianne, which lifted Claude's heart.

After a few stories, Ingrid suddenly interjected and gleefully started talking about the various failed romantic escapades Sylvain had used her as a proxy for. Some of them were so ridiculous that Leonie demanded to know if they were real; when the redhead reluctantly clarified that they were – including the time he accidentally offered his date a tea spiked with a mild sedative, she insisted he drink first, and when h passed out she fled the scene in a panic leaving him to be discovered a few hours later. That earned another round of wild laughter from the teens, which Sylvain took in surprisingly good humor; even Dorothea gained a spark in her eyes.

Then Hilda took over, recalling various escapades that Balthus and Holst had gotten into when she was young – including one event where they'd been blindsided by a demonic beast while out on a walk, prompting Balthus to heroically save the day first by escaping with her, then by going back to help Holst slay the beast.

Of course, she promptly followed that up with the time Balthus failed to repay a loan to a little old lady who liked to sell apples at one of the markets in a timely fashion, forcing Holst to play peacekeeper to the scariest grandmother Claude had heard of aside from his father's. Promptly followed by Constance upbraiding her friend for borrowing from a little old lady in the first place, and Balthus grumbling about how he was actually lucky Holst was leading a different division of the army.

When the stories slowed down, Annette started to sing – nervously at first, since she was half-afraid of her songs being taken out of context yet again, but when Mercedes and Dorothea started to sing along, she steadily gained confidence. After just a few short minutes, Annette was leading all her fellow graduates in a surprisingly rowdy Kingdom campfire song. Dedue was the only person not singing; but he clapped along nonetheless, smiling so warmly his severe face was softened significantly.

Mid song, Constance sprang to her feet, grabbed Sylvain by the arm and dragged him up so she could begin a dance; sparked by her initiative, Dorothea got up and pulled a startled Atra to her feet before joining in, guiding the black-haired girl through the steps of the cheerful jig. Felix reluctantly let Bernadetta pull him into the dancing. _He is so incredibly, staggeringly in denial over how sweet he is on my little sister!, _Claude thought with a grin as he jumped to his feet and spun around, offering Byleth his hand. _I wonder if a nudge is what he needs. We need more dancers for partner changes to be thing, however! _

Beaming, she accepted and joined him without hesitation; unlike back at that dancing practice. Evidently she didn't care if she ended up looking silly in front of them; maybe now she even welcomed it. Feeling his heart skip a beat when he pulled her closer, Claude winked playfully at Dimitri before sweeping her away.

_Who wins in a battle, Khalid?_

_The side with more forces to bring to bear? _

_No, my son. The warrior who wins is the one who has the most to fight for. _

_If that's the case, _Claude thought as he spun Byleth in a circle, getting a bright, warm laugh out of her, _There's no way we're going to loose. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand I'm starting to put some of my headcanons to page. (nibbles on nails anxiously) Gosh, I hope you guys find them interesting. 
> 
> Maurice fascinates me. Despite how long he's been stuck in the Wandering Beast form, he's still at least partly lucid seeing as he can have full conversations with Marianne, Claude and Byleth. I really see him as a tired, remorseful old man who just wants to put himself and what's conntected to him into the ground where he feels it belongs - which explains why he attacks Marianne, but ultimately tells her to take up Blutrang when he's defeated. He believes that by refusing to despair, she'll have the strength to cut her own future.
> 
> Because he's so interesting, I wanted to give him a LITTLE more to do than just a one-and-done fight; hence why I've gone with this. We won't be seeing him for a while; but we will be seeing a few other giant friends, so stay tuned~! 
> 
> Also Seteth, why not just tell them your Cichol? I keep trying to have you tell them and you keep saying 'not now, later'. (seriously, I keep trying to find a place for him to sit down with Atra and Claude and just tell them, but I can't find one that feels natural. I guess he's so used to keeping it a secret he's just sticking to what he knows even now.)


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth arrives at the Great Bridge of Myrddin and quickly finds trouble there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Gah. This chapter gave me more trouble conceptualizing than it had any right to. I hope it came out alright. Byleth is finding new things to stress out about, and I can finally get back to a proper battle chapter.
> 
> ...It feels so weird to realize that *combat chapters* are a comfort zone for me now.

“Here it is. The Great Bridge of Myrddin.”

Byleth tilted her head up, looking at the massive stone building before them. The largest bridge over the Arimid River was just a vast and awe-inspiring as she remembered from previous visits; the Alliance flags atop its highest towers ripped in the fierce winds, no doubt buffeting the various patrols she could just see marching in formation along the stretches of the bridge. It wasn't elegant, unlike a lot of Empire designs, but unlike many buildings in the old land this bridge was built with practicality put first and foremost.

“Wow. You don't see bridges like that in Almyra,” Cyril said wonderingly.

“It's been years since I last visited this area of the Alliance,” Rodrigue murmured, a distant look in his eyes as he surveyed their destination. “It was something Lambert and another friend of ours dragged me into, not long before we graduated from the officer's academy. I wonder how she's been since then...”

“Might I have heard of this?” Judith asked curiously.

A faint smile graced the older man's lips. “I doubt it. It was kept fairly quiet, for numerous reasons. Perhaps when we have the time, I'll recall everything that happened those days.”

“Hey, everything looks calm. For once we've managed to get here _before_ everything went straight to the Eternal Flames.” Claude noted with disproportionate cheeriness. “It's a literal miracle.”

Sothis snickered deep in Byleth's mind. _I would take credit if I thought I could get away with it, _the goddess said thoughtfully. _Perhaps if they're stocked up on chamomile tea..._

_Don't even think about it, _Byleth thought back with a flash of good humor. “All the better for it. Pushing the march to reach here in the time we've managed has exhausted everyone. We're in little shape for battle at the moment.”

“One of Lord Gloucester's retainers should be waiting for us at the entrance; he said that he'd be sending one of his men ahead for our arrival.” Judith's cat like smile suggested that if this was not so, for whatever the reason, _someone_ was going to have a very bad evening.

“Let's hope so,” Gilbert said gravely. He was looking up at the thick black clouds blanketing the sky; the wind tugged roughly at his hair. “I doubt we have much longer before the storm is upon us.”

“I wonder how long it will last,” Dimitri murmured, half to himself. “It's so dark you'd think night was upon us, rather than mid-day.”

“I guess we'll find out,” Byleth responded, before turning her horse around. Their army stretched out over the fields and between the trees for a long ways behind her; her friends were close behind, her fellow mercenaries having fallen back to watch the rear flank just in case. Their travel had been very hurried since their strange and uneasy encounter with Maurice in Edmund territory; they hadn't seen hair or hide or the famous beast since, nor any of lesser creatures that logically should have been out and about.

Claude took this as an indication that Maurice actually intended to uphold his end of the bargain. Seteth disagreed with surprising vehemence, leaving Byleth to wonder if he'd had an encounter with the beast before... Seteth wasn't easily persuaded to talk about his past in specifics; the few times he had, he'd been very vague.

Either way, they'd made it to the bridge in very good time. Given that it was a matter of 'when', not 'if', the Empire attacked in order to seize it and use it as the springboard of an invasion into the Alliance... small mercies, indeed.

“Our destination is in sight, everyone!” She called out. A ragged bright cheer echoed back from the ranks of the men; it made her smile. “Warm rooms and fresh fruit await us!” She waved overhead for good measure.

_It's not wine that awaits, but fresh fruit... Does my dear Byleth crave some Noa fruit? _Sothis asked teasingly.

_Oh hush. You want a few too and you know it. _

Sothis's solemn, divine and very mature response to that was to stick her tongue out at her host.

With that, they made their way from the field down to the stone road to the bridge and its fortress. The sound of waves crashing against the walls of the bridge rang like thunder overhead; wind howled around the towers as the drawbridge dropped with grating metal and a definitive _thud_. Byleth only had to ponder for a split second of Gloucester would backstab them after all before a man in rich robes and an honor guard came out to greet them. As promised. _Maybe he is devoted to the cause...or maybe he just didn't get a chance to hear from the Empire in time. _

“Welcome to the Great Bridge of Myrddin!” The Gloucester retainer called as the army leaders approached him. Byleth thought he looked vaguely familiar; perhaps she'd met him on a previous job in Leicester? “You've arrived rather early, my lords and ladies; we weren't expecting you for another week yet.”

“We made good time,” Judith said diplomatically. Byleth glanced at her, lips parted in slight confusion before she felt a hand on her wrist. Blinking, she returned her attention to Claude, who shook his head slightly.

“_People are terrified of the Wanderer for good reason_,” The brunette said very quietly, barely more than a whisper. “_Bringing up our 'agreement' with him is more likely to terrify them then give them any sense of solace. Let's save that hard sell for later, huh_?”

_That sound rather like something one would **resent **us for not deigning to tell them straight away, _Sothis deadpanned.

_If they live in the Alliance, they're used to being informed of alarming facts quite a while after they would liked to have known them. _Byleth thought back dryly, before nodding in understanding. Smiling, Claude pulled his hand back and then gave her a meaningful wink.

She tried not to blush and looked straight ahead as Judith and Rodrigue finished speaking to the retainer. Claude chuckled and moved forward to include himself in the conversation; conscious of his new role in the Alliance, in spite of seeming no different to her.

“He is trouble,” Dimitri murmured. Byleth looked over her shoulder and saw a fond smile on his face along with a light blush.

“There is a matter you should be aware of,” She heard the retainer inform Claude, “but it should be discussed in a slightly more secure area. Your accommodations have been prepared...shall we go in?”

Claude didn't tense up at this...neither did Judith. So neither of them seemed to suspect a trap; Byleth wondered if she was just being paranoid. Or perhaps she actually _wanted _a reason to distrust Gloucester, considering what she knew him to have done.

_What was it you said about that particular Lord after we saved those merchants, and Raphael and Lorenz were out of earshot? _Sothis asked idly. _'I'm going to pull his spine out through his throat?' Or maybe it was 'I'm going to take a leg bone from that demonic beast and shove it so far up his-'_

_Please don't, _Byleth pleaded, praying she was still keeping a straight face.

_Why? You said it, not me._

_Because I'm supposed to be the holiest woman in Fodlan right now, and if I keep thinking lines like that, it's only a matter of time until I slip up and **say **one of them! _

_...You're fighting in a **war**. They cannot _possibly _expect you not to swear._

_Might I remind you that I have **no idea **how to preform this role Rhea decided to give me? I would prefer to be paranoid then risk screwing this up...! _

The grinding of the main gates opening for them drew her attention to the living world around her. Giving her head a shake to clear it, Byleth politely greeted the retainer and requested that everyone in the army be taken care of with equal energy. The adoring looks that the Knights of Serios under Shamir gave her in turn still made her uncomfortable; she wondered what they saw when they looked at her now. She wondered if she would ever get used to this treatment, like she was a goddess or an extension of Sothis... and sometimes she wondered if she even should.

Did they believe she couldn't make mistakes? She'd made plenty. If she forgot that, what kind of person might she turn into?

It took a little while for the entire army to enter the bridge, dismount and get their mounts squared away. As that was happening, Byleth and the other leaders were lead into the fortress by the retainer.

The rooms within the fortress were surprisingly elegant, considering what the building was constructed for. They were lead down a number of carpeted hallways before being brought to a massive dining hall; it was at least as big as the one back at Garreg Mach. Thinking of that gave Byleth a pang of homesickness. Something smelled very good in the kitchens; Raphael wouldn't be the only one to appreciate that.

“The message came to us just yesterday, Lord Riegan.” The retainer informed Claude, handing him a scroll. Judith frowned and looked over the brunette's shoulder as Byleth watched his expression. “The man didn't wear Empire colors, even though the message was sealed with the royal crest. Because of this, we're actually quite grateful for your early arrival; this bodes quite ill for the future.”

Claude _tsked _as his eyes scanned the page. “...A magnanimous offer, for her. Lord Gloucester 'elevated' to her royal council, the lands of House Riegan...exemption from fighting in her army for ten years. The Imperial army will march through the land toward Deirdru 'without a stone thrown or a pane of glass broken...should you accept.' A rather friendly way of saying 'bow to me and avoid a deluge of human blood.”

He rolled it up and handed it over to Judith. The older woman snorted and tore it in half, to the approving looks of the retainer and Lord Rodrigue. “I wonder who else she's sent this to...at least _one _name springs to mind. Has Lord Gloucester given the Emperor a response?”

“To quote my lord's own words on the matter, 'it would not have been proper for me to treat with you without speaking to the Great Council. After all, I am not king of the Alliance.'”

_Oh, Edelgard will not like that, _Byleth thought with a strange kind of amusement. _He's indirectly insulting her for not addressing him like an Alliance noble, instead speaking to him from the position of an Emperor to a noble. Perhaps he will be loyal to us despite his reservations..._

Dimitri smirked at that, though the look faded for concern after a moment. “Who else do you expect was given the offer?”

“A few well-known troublemakers.” Claude shrugged. “It's not ideal, but with our current unity with Faerghus, it's not an attractive offer that it might have been in another time and place.”

“I know who you're referring to,” Judith said dryly. “Shall we draw up a letter warning Lord Edmund to keep an eye on him?”

_Who...? ...Oh. Oh, of __**course**__. Ugh. Why did I think that he would be out of our hair by now? _“I think that would be wise,” Byleth said, managing to keep the exasperation out of her voice at the last second. “But before that, might we see to feeding our people? The rushed march has been rather trying for them.”

The retainer bowed deeply to her. “As you wish, Lady Eisner.”

* * *

Byleth ate her meal fairly quickly, and then began to make rounds about the dining hall, speaking to various factions of the army. She asked after the health of the foot soldiers, listened to their concerns when they asked her questions or expressed fear for might happen to their families, and tried to provide as much comfort and support as she could. She had little hope of building bonds as close as that which she had with her precious friends; but she did want the people who looked at her for hope and guidance to know that she valued them and would do what she could for them.

Heaven help her, but there were so many people. And after the battles ahead, no matter how much she did, some of them would be dead. That knowledge sat like a rock in her stomach as she watched knights and villager militia alike laughed and joked with each other, expressed concern for their spouses and children back at home, and vocalized their resentment of the Empire for the war.

_What do I do? _Byleth wondered plaintively.

_What you've always done, _Sothis responded softly. _Everything you can. _

It took a long time to do this; the Fraldarius, Riegan, Daphnel and Dominic soldiers formed a large force, after all. By the time she'd done a real round, dessert was being served. Not wanting to miss a sweet distraction, Byleth made her way back to the table where her friends were sitting in a unified group.

“It's nice, isn't it?” Claude asked her brightly when she sat between him and Lysithea. A plate of tarts and peach sorbet was sitting at her place, waiting for her.

“You're referring to something specific,” Byleth guessed. She picked up one of the tarts and took a bite, _oh_. That was very nice; so fresh...

“You were talking to everyone, didn't you notice?” Her scheming prince asked, mock-scandalized. “Everyone says that the Kingdom doesn't get along with the Empire because of old resentments over the succession. But looking around the room, you can see everyone mingling with each other, laughing and making jokes like they've known each other their whole lives. You wouldn't think there were two separate kingdoms in this hall right now, would you?”

“...That's true.”

“We have a common goal, and a common enemy.” Lorenz noted, primly cutting one of his tarts in half. What he had against eating the small treats with his fingers, she couldn't fathom – that's how they were meant to be eaten! “Trying times have forged close bonds; the tale of Saint Serios and Emperor Wilhelm is famous for that.”

Claude paused, his drink halfway to his lips, as a contemplative look on his face. A familiar spark flickered in his eyes and he nodded almost to himself. “How's the mood of the army, Teach?”

“Everyone seems confident.” She allowed, before taking another bite of her tart before pulling her peach sorbet closer. “Considering that we're on the verge of marching into Empire territory, it's a good thing...but we haven't been in much heavy fighting yet.”

She might have said something else, but Raphael let out a loud belch, which started a laugh out of her and caused Lorenz to protest loudly about his friend's table manners. Leonie promptly teased him about being uptight, causing him to sputter in protest, and the their moved away from military affairs to more uplifting topics.

Byleth allowed herself to enjoy it. She listened to Yuri and Claude verbally spar, Hilda, Balthus and Hapi taking mock-serious bets on who would come out on top. Ignatz asked Flayn if she would be willing to be a model for his portrait of Saint Cethleann; a project he'd been considering for a while and hoped would be one of his masterpieces. Marianne and Ashe were talking quietly about something; she couldn't hear it over the general chatter, but judging how the pair were holding hands and paying attention solely to each other; it probably wasn't meant to be overheard. Balthus was arm-wrestling with Raphael, who he'd developed a fast and deep friendship while Robb, Hugo and the other guys from the mercenary troop gleefully cheered them on. Constance was talking to Linhardt, gesticulating wildly as she tried to explain a concept to him; unusually for him, he was giving her the whole of his attention even though he'd complained about being tired through most of the afternoon. Hapi was listening too, occasionally chiming in; next to her, Dorothea was swirling the wine in her goblet and looking very distant. Bernadetta was eagerly offering Yuri a bowlful of treats, which Felix seemed somewhat bothered by despite his attempts to hide it – much to Glenn's amusement. Atra was listening attentively to Mercedes, who was holding the black-haired girl's hands together in prayer as she taught the young Agarthan the words of the Sothis faith. Dedue was watching this happen with an expression that was both pleased and deeply admiring; he turned and talked to Dimitri and Ingrid. The young king looked a little distracted, but he was engaging with his best friends with consistency and visible warmth, which Byleth was glad to see.

_This peace won't last, _she noted with a twinge of sadness. _It's just a respite..._

_You're in a low mood, Byleth, _Sothis noted with a small frown. _Does none of this give you any comfort?_

_I'm glad they're finding some happiness in the quiet, _Byleth noted. _But I'm afraid of what happens next. The siege of the monastery showed me what's in store for us in the future... I'm afraid of what war might do to them. _She rubbed her forehead with one hand. _I'm trying not to dwell on it, I really am, but my thoughts keep circling back to it. _

Sothis hummed in understanding, her phantom arms winding around her friend's shoulders. There wasn't much more to be said, after all... Byleth closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair a bit, saying no more and simply soaking in the comfort provided by her ghostly divine companion.

The meal ended not long afterwards; Byleth quietly stood and excused herself, rather hoping that she wasn't required for anything else this evening. She felt several of her friends watching her in concern as she slipped out of the dining hall.

She made her way through the winding hallways toward the officer's bedrooms; she, her friends and the other nobles were being put up here while the others were in the soldier's barracks on the main 'floor'. Climbing the stairwell, she could hear through the arrow slits that it had finally begun to storm; rain lashed the stone walls, lightning crashed and thunder rolled with enough force to shake the whole world. Not a great omen.

Her room was easily found, and thankfully modestly appointed; she'd never had much use for opulence other than what provided decent comfort. She undid the elegant knot her hair had been tied up in; she'd tried to emulate Rhea's look as best she could in her absence, but she'd found it uncomfortable and distracting. Hopefully she could get away with just tying her now-long hair in a low ponytail by saying that anything more would be impractical for battle.

Placing the Sword of the Creator against the foot of her bed, Byleth winced and rolled her shoulder a few times. “Ugh...” She muttered, wincing at pinch she felt there. “I've been riding for too long.”

Untying the ropes of her coat, she slid it off and draped it over the clothes chest next to the bed. Running her fingers through her hair, which she had used to keep short but had let grow long after the death of her father – and when she'd recovered, she'd never really remembered to cut it. Looking in the mirror now...she sort of liked the look.

Walking over to the window, she set alight one of the unlit torches and closed the curtains against the roaring weather outside. Then there was a light knock on her front door. _What is it now?, _she wondered in resignation. “Yes?” She called.

“_Is this a bad time, Teach?_” A welcome but unexpected voice asked her lightly.

She turned around in surprise. “No,” she blurted without thinking.

Moments later, the door opened halfway and Claude – then a slightly wary-looking Dimitri – slipped into her room. Byleth felt herself smile a bit as the brunette crossed the room and kissed her cheek. Then – without warning – he placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. She squeaked, twisting to glare at him; amused green eyes gazed back at him.

“Thought you were tense, Lethe,” he said in a low, teasing voice. Byleth's stomach twisted in a very treacherous manner; he'd first called her Lethe when they'd first... “I can at least make you feel a little better.”

“Aren't you worried about getting caught in here?” She asked, only to whimper (_damn it_!) when Claude started to massage her shoulders, working at the knots that had built up over the march and the stress that had been eating at her.

“You two worry too much.”

“You don't worry enough,” Dimitri grumbled, padding closer and lacing his fingers between Byleth's. “I can't function as your missing sense of self preservation forever, _Prince _Khalid,” It was impressive how much chiding emphasis he could fit into one word.

“Hey, I have well-developed self preservation! You two are the ones who live dangerously, and you got me doing it too,” Claude complained teasingly.

“Liar,” Dimitri said flatly. “You were always a good person. You just spent so long pretending you weren't you even started to fool _yourself_.”

Byleth blinked when Claude didn't immediately retort to that; she didn't really get a chance to ponder that, however. The brunette pressed his fingers into a part of her back that had been particularly knotted up and she melted into his hands. A moment later, a soft kiss pressed against her neck before Khalid murmured, “Lie down, Lethe. This'll be easier for me that way.”

Her resistance effectively drained away, Byleth moved and sat on the edge of the bed. She paused briefly before pulling her shirt off and lying down on her stomach. She heard Dimitri's breath hitch and smiled a bit to herself.

The mattress dipped slightly as Claude sat next to her. “Aren't you going to sit with me, Mitya?” He asked in a low, teasing voice that he knew had a certain effect on the blonde. Moments later, his hands pressed against her back.

“You're a devil.” the mattress dipped a bit further as Dimitri joined them. Byleth sighed happily as Claude's clever fingers worked at her back. Already she was starting to feel a little better...

“You love it.”

* * *

Though the thunder and lightning had stopped, it was still raining the next morning; but Byleth went out to see the bridge guards nevertheless.

She had an overcoat with a hood that kept the rain off of her face, which she appreciated. Judith and Rodrigue were with her, as were Claude and Dimitri; the former two were speaking to the head guards and giving her advice while subtly giving the latter two an on-the-job lesson on how they should handle the minute decisions in their new roles as Duke and King. _This might be the roughest on-the-job learning since Father took Juno into the troope and had Uthor start training her to become a War Master, _Byleth mused, a faint smile on her face as she recalled the cranky old man who'd retired from mercenary life a few years ago. _I wonder how he's doing...he had a home in Northern Faerghus the last time I saw him... _

Lord Gloucester's retainer was saying something to Rodrigue when Byleth saw the flicker of purple-pink over his shoulder. She probably wouldn't have seen it before she fused with Sothis's heart – it was only a brief moment, a few seconds, before the person using the strange variant of Warp would solidify on the wall and spring the attack.

She was moving in an instant. “_**Move!**_” She shouted at the lines of troops, grabbing Lord Rodrigue by the wrist and pulling him to the side.

Sure enough, a blast of Blizzard flew past her, close enough to chill the skin of her wrist; the spell flew harmlessly through where Rodrigue had been standing moments before to smash harmlessly into the brick of the bridge's fortress. The Fraldarius patriarch was quick on the draw; he quickly centered himself, turned in the direction the attack had come from, and promptly cast Aura in retaliation.

The blazing white magic enveloped the enemy who had suddenly appeared on the bridge; a loud, childish and vaguely familiar scream hit Byleth's ears. A flurry of other Warp spells had deposited a number of armored knights, painted the silver and gold of the Alliance alongside the first attacker, who was rolling on the ground in pain.

“You've got to be kidding me...” Claude started, then he tensed up. He glanced up at the cloud-covered sky, blinking as the rain fell down, and swore bitterly. “Scatter!” He warned the troops.

The troops and everyone nearby fled in different directions; moments later, roughly a dozen stones engulfed in blazing flames fell from above the clouds. They shattered upon impact, burning fragments spraying in every direction; one of them hit Byleth in the leg, though she hardly noticed. Thanks to Claude's warning, no one was killed – though a number of people had been hit by the shock wave and the flaming projectiles.

Looking up at the sky, Byleth knew that someone was overhead and snorted. _There's a pegasus squad up there, carrying some siege mages. I'll bet my life on it. Time to use one of my new tricks, right Sothis?_

_It couldn't hurt to pull back the curtain a bit, _Sothis responded with a grim sort of amusement.

Byleth pointed one hand upwards. _I can't use this the same way Constance can...but I can use it to surprise my enemies! _ “Bolting,” She proclaimed in a toneless calm.

The blast of lightning flew upwards, splitting the cloudy sky and striking home on one of the pegasus knights. Rider, passenger and pegasus fell to the bridge with a sickening thud, each charred like overcooked meat. The blast radius had struck multiple knights around where her first victim had been; some of them fell dozens of feet, dropping below the clouds that had been shielding them, and several of their mounts bucked and thrashed violently in response to the attack – while they were built to survive it, their reaction threw several of their mage passengers from their backs.

Byleth wasn't dwelling on this, however. Her eyes went to the first man who had appeared first and attempted to kill Rodrigue. He was scrambling back to his feet, trying to recover from his embarrassing failure and carry out his mission.

“The Alliance has no use for northern savages,” The man said indigently. “I, for one, have no intention of selling off my self-sufficiency to kowtow to a half-mad boy king! Come, my fellow free men! Let us free ourselves from this farce of an 'agreement!'”

_**Now **I know where I heard that voice, _Byleth thought darkly. Raising her own voice, she retorted, “Yes, instead you wish to kowtow to the warmongering emperor. I'm not sure what else I expected from you, Weathervane.”

The bridge shook under her feet. That could only be the result of other meteor mages. The bridge was under siege.

How many forces? She looked at the pegasus knight where she had fallen along with her passager. Charred as they were, she could still see the red and black of the Empire.

_This is designed to tear apart the alliance between the two kingdoms, _she realized. _Edelgard hopes that, if this goes well, the Kingdom will blame the Alliance for the deaths of Rodrigue and Dimitri, believe they intended to backstab them from the beginning. _

_Don't you care that you're ordering the death of your step brother and the destruction of his home, Edelgard?! He cares so much about you...why is it so easy for you to discard that like it means less than nothing?! _

Dimitri appeared in a flash of light blue light in the rain; he pivoted on one foot and raised a javelin enveloped with his crest's power. Then he threw it.

Acheron had dodged a flurry of arrows that Claude had shot at him as the alarm bells rang and their friends came pouring out of the fortress – ahead of the actual experienced army, Byleth noted with a warm sense of pride and affection – weapons drawn and ready for a fight; not that they were neaded.

Because Archeron had walked right into Dimitri's field of vision, just in time to take a Blayddid-Crest powered javelin to his head.

The Siege of Myrddin had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard tries to fight smart, I'll give her that much credit.
> 
> Alright, there are a few things I'd like to tell/ask you guys! Firstly, a little while ago I uploaded more Atra supports in the Expanded Support log, and now I'm working on some C supports for Glenn. That's going to be quite fun~, so feel free to check out and comment on the support log after you read this chapter!
> 
> Secondly, speaking of the expanded universe - after being hyperfocused on the main fic for - well, months now - I finally have a few ideas for the Knights of Fodlan side stories, but I also want your opinions for what you want to see. Remember, these would be scenes from the POV of side characters during any point of the story so far. The two mini stories I have in mind are Felix seeing Glenn again, and Bernadetta fighting during the siege. I would love for you guys to drop suggestions because that lets me know what you are most interested in!
> 
> Thirdly, I am strongly considering making a little fun side fic to contain more, erm, intimate scenes that would mess with the rating of the main fic. Haven't decided to go through with it, but it's a fun thought.
> 
> Fourthly, I would love it if some of you guys had a look at my Genealogy/Three Houses fanfic. Since Genealogy is an old game and never released in English, it doesn't get a whole lot of readers, but if you guys are really enjoying this fic, I think you'll like what I do over there too.
> 
> As a final note, I promise the next chapter will be extra long to make up for how the last two have dipped under my typical 5,000 word count. Consider it an apology! Hope you guys enjoy the chapter~!


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri fights in the rain and uses Areadbhar as king for the first time, in all its great and terrible power.

Dimitri cursing virulently; he spun around as Acheron's body hit the ground and shouted, “_They're above us!_” at the soldiers leaving the fortress. The formations that had scattered to avoid the opening Meteor strike were scrambling to reform; thankfully, many of the long-standing guard on the bridge were archers and snipers. They had quickly taken up in the 'fortress blind' over a dozen yards south of his position and were firing volleys through the rain at the flying squadron above them.

“_Get somebody inside, ring the bells to sound the alarm!_” Claude was shouting after letting out a ear-piercing whistle. Somehow – Dimitri suspected it had something to do with Failnaught, honestly – his voice reached his devoted mount's ear; he heard the distant shriek of a very surprised and Very Angry wyvern. “_Unless you're an archer, form up in groups of ten and keep mobile! I give it a few seconds before one of the mages casts again! Stay still and you'll get hit!” _

“Your Highness!” Dedue's voice, suddenly coming from directly behind him, nearly made him spin around and attack his dear friend. Thankfully he managed to snare and hold onto his wits, instead accepting his friend's hand and bolting for entrance to the wooden bridge on the other side of the fortress tower.

“How can they see their targets through this rain?” Mercedes asked, appearing in his peripheral vision as another blaze of golden light arced up toward the sky. Dimitri spent precious seconds twisting his head to catch a glimpse of Byleth swinging the Creator's Sword at the sky; Claude was at her side in an instant, pulling her along as her attack knocked another enemy from the sky. “Pegasi can't fly well in this weather, and the visibility is terrible!”

“Most likely, sheer discipline!” Annette's voice was a pleasant surprise; usually she was a late sleeper, especially when the weather was like this. “I think they must be part of the Vestra School of Magic; they're famous for the intensive training that mages don't usually receive, including fighting in intense weather like this! The use of Meteor is also a dead giveaway.”

The four of them skidded to a halt a few feet away from the foot of the bridge. Dimitri looked along its length and eyed the ballista tucked away in a safe corner for a minute before dismissing the possibility; he hadn't been training with a bow for _that _long, and there was an even-odd chance he'd end up breaking it given his current mood. Giving his head a shake, he peered around the corner to take stock of what was going on with the remaining troops the traitor had brought with him.

Rodrigue and Judith had found each other very quickly, and side by the side they were tearing apart the armored and mounted knights that had followed the corpse of a backstabbing lord that now soaked the bridge in his blood. Aura would blast an armored knight into a wall, giving Judith an opening to blur past a rearing horse and slice off the buckles holding a saddle in place; when the rider fell from his mount, she finished him off as soon as he hit the stone. Rodrigue threw a javelin over her shoulder as she knelt to do this work, injuring another horse and causing it to throw its rider directly at two of the Bridge Guard, who ensured that he _stayed down_.

While this was happening, another Meteor fell from the storming heavens, aimed at another group of the bridge guard. Thankfully, however, Claude's tactics were already paying out; the group darted past the area that the spell targeted. The burning rock still struck the bridge hard enough to shake the ground they were standing on; Annette shrieked and almost overbalanced before Dedue caught her.

A white blur in the corner of his eye; Dimitri actually felt himself smile when he tilted his head and saw Claude swing up onto Ivory's back – without a saddle! – and take to the sky. “She's certainly special,” he mused.

“I knew I should have taken up horseback riding. Being stuck on foot like in the middle of this is scary!” Annette whined, biting her lip. “What should we do, Dimitri? That horrible lord must have opened other avenues for the Empire to climb the bridge; is there any way to change that?”

“Not from here...and if we go ahead ourselves, we risk being overrun.” Dimitri bit his lip and carefully scrambled across the rain-soaked wooden bridge. It wobbled under his footsteps, and looking down was a big mistake – hundreds of yards below, a river rushed so quickly around various pointed stones the water was white. Swallowing hard, he successfully crossed and stopped at the edge of a tower, leaning forward to scout forward.

The stone road was thinly defended; only a few dozen soldiers of various practices. Fortunately, there was no sign of breakthrough yet.

“Should we cut the bridge here, Your Majesty?” Dedue asked, his voice strained to call over the rain and thunder. Dimitri glanced back and saw his friend indicating the rope bridge that ran side-by-side with the stone walkway.

“Hold that thought for now,” He called back, moving to rejoin them. “Any avenue of movement that we close is one we won't be able to use either. We should-”

“There you are!”

The voice came from above him – nearly drowned out by the rain and the screams and sounds of battle. Fortunately, Dimitri's battlefield awareness had always been excellent; he heard the vaguely familiar voice and immediately snapped his head up toward the sky. Through the rain, he could see a shadow hurtling down toward him; it was surrounded by a faint white haze. “Watch out!” He warned his friends as he threw himself to the right, running as quickly as he dared over the shaky wooden bridge. His feet slipped on the sodden wood, causing him to fall to one knee; cursing, he pulled himself back up by the ropes and kept moving. _No one can fight on this surface! _

“Dimitri!” Mercedes cried in fear as the wyvern swooped down, raising its front arms so all four legs were aimed at his back. He just wasn't fast enough-

“You're going down!” Annette's voice cracked like a whip as she cast Sagitte, striking the wyvern as it came so close to grabbing him. The magic blow staggered the creature, allowing Dimitri to scramble the last few feet across the wooden bridge; spinning around, he unsheathed his silver lance and glared up at their opponent.

Claude had described the wyvern general he'd fought in the sky at Garreg Mach to him; it was hard to tell thanks to the rain and low light, but Dimitri was fairly certain this was the same woman. Claude suspected she was a new appointment, gaining her position due to a mixture of competence and fanatical loyalty to Edel – to _that witch._ He'd also said that she would fight no matter the odds against her.

_She won't stand down. ...So be it. _Something in his heart keened, despite the hot rage pumping through his veins. Dimitri tried to push it away, but it remained underneath everything else he'd felt since that mask broke in the Holy Tomb.

“Blayddid! For the future of Fodlan that Her Majesty envisions, you must vanish!” The woman shouted, her wyvern circling above them.

Dimitri bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. _El..._

_El is dead, _his father said sternly. _The Flame Emperor killed her; the least you can do is avenge her death. _

The wyvern surged down towards them; both Annette and Mercedes cast magic at her in retaliation. Annette's hand glowed with white light, surprising him, seconds before she cast Abraxas. The strongest light spell in recorded history – when had she found the time to learn it? _That must be why she and Lysithea have been sitting beside each other so often whenever we made camp. They were using the downtime to learn just a little bit more... _

Wyverns did not like magic. What they had above pegasi in physical prowess, they lacked in the innate magical resistance. Abraxas must have hit that woman's mount like an avalanche; it let out an unholy-sounding shriek and lost all momentum, dropping several feet before regaining its bearings. Dedue darted between it, its rider and the girls; Dimitri took the opportunity to throw a javelin at the woman – more to keep her off her game than doing serious damage.

She jerked hard on the reigns of her mount; the weapon missed, vanishing over the bridge and down into the ravine below. Scowling fiercely, she took a tomahawk from her belt and flung it directly at his face; Dedue was already moving, however, and pulled Dimitri out of the way – causing it to harmlessly slam into the stone wall behind him.

Mercedes acted quickly, Bolganone flying from her fingertips the instant Dimitri was safe. The woman swore, pulling harshly on the reigns again so the wyvern moved up. The flames only grazed it as a result, but some burns on the creature's scales that he could see proved that they had done some damage already... Now that she was close to the ground, however, Dimitri could see the source of the pale white haze surrounding her – it was a silver shield buckled against the wyvern's chest. A familiar one, too – Claude called it the 'Aurora Shield', the ultimate protection against arrows and other physical weapons, projectile or otherwise.

_She's definitely one of El – the witch's favorites. _As quickly as the thought struck him, he shifted into a ready stance. _She's probably the overall commander for the attack. If we take her out..._

The woman whistled sharply, and a chorus of answering voices from other knights answered her. A batallion of a dozen pegasi and wyvern riders began to cut through the sky towards them. Dimitri said something that would have made Felix arch an eyebrow at him before and started moving backwards as quickly as he could. “Come on,” He urged Annette, who was frozen with panic. “We need to mo-”

He'd didn't even get a chance to finish; a pair of horses whinnied and the air was full of arrows. Dimitri twisted over his shoulder and relief replaced his panic so quickly he almost got whiplash.

Ashe, Bernadetta and Sylvain had appeared from behind them as if by magic. _(No, not any magic – Sothis. Byleth must have percieved this happening – how many uses of divine pulse was this for her? She said she could use more, but how many more-_) Bernadetta was already aiming again, controlling her horse with just her legs as her crest's light surrounded the killer bow right before she unleashed a ghostly _storm_.

Ashe was right behind her; it looked like Claude had given him his Brave Bow after getting Failnaught, because his rate of fire – while obviously not as intense as Bernadetta's – was much faster than it had any right to be. Sylvain, meanwhile, road past them and offered Dimitri his hand; the young king accepted that with a grin and let himself be hauled up onto the black horse's back.

The screams of the flying creatures struck by this arrow storm made him cringe sympathetically; Annette must have been feeling it quite keenly, because he saw her hug Mercedes's arm as several of their enemies either dropped out of the air completely or stumbled down to an ungraceful landing, shying away from their current tormentors. Their riders, knowing they couldn't force their mounts back in the air, dismounted and charged.

This Dimitri could work around. While Ashe and Bernadetta circled around Annette and Mercedes – protecting them while they fired magic attacks at the general who was flying over head, trying to get at them – and firing arrows anyone who got too close, Sylvain spurred forward directly at their mounted and unmounted enemies.

The Lance of Ruin glowed like a torch in the rainstorm as the redhead brought it down on a stocky man wielding a silver lance. The impact tore through him, spraying him and Dimitri (_thankfully less so for him..._) with a geyser of blood. Syvlain spat the liquid out, wincing, and muttered a quick prayer under his breath before moving on. He urged his horse straight at the formation the downed men had formed, the Lance pointed straight forward. While initially they tried to hold firm, several bolted out of the way, resulting in the redhead's horse rearing up and slamming its front hooves onto the raised shield obstructing it from the rest of their enemies.

Dimitri slashed his lance out and down, piercing through a woman's shoulder and sending her to the ground. Dedue blurred past them, his silver gauntlets a blur as he unleashed a flurry of attacks on one of the wyvern riders, pummeling the man into submission. The man's partner tried to knock Dedue down by hitting him in the back of the head with the butt of his ax; Dedue merely turned, gave him a dry look, and put him down with a technique Balthus had taught him – Draining Blow, he'd called it. Channeling a little magic through the gauntlets in a way that mimicked the Crest of Riegan's life-draining effect. Sylvain lead his horse in a circle around Dedue, swinging his lance to the left and the right. Whatever enemy wasn't torn apart by it took injuries deep enough that they simply sank to the floor, trying to stem the bleeding as best they could – the fight drained out of them.

Dimitri wasn't idle; as soon as their enemies on the ground were taken care of, his attention went back to the sky. The general woman was circling far above Annette, Mercedes, Ashe and Bernadetta; the latter two were trying to shoot her down as best they could despite the effects of the Aurora Shield. Occasionally Annette and Mercedes fired magical attacks at her, but the woman had not been raised to her rank for nothing; largely, she was avoiding them.

Then she threw a tomahawk down – it was falling towards -

He didn't even get a chance to shout a strained warning as Sylvain turned them around; Dedue was faster. He bolted past Bernadetta's horse, nearly getting kicked in the process, grabbing Mercedes and giving Annette a push that knocked her past Ashe.

When the tomahawk fell, it struck him in the middle of the back, burying through his leather – it hit where it did because he had pulled Mercedes against his chest and hunched over to take the blow.

Dimitri's vision blurred red.

He discarded the silver lance he'd been using and drew Areadbhar from its sheathe on his back.

He didn't like using a hero's relic against rank-and-file soldiers. It always seemed unnecessarily cruel.

But right in that moment, it didn't matter.

He jumped from the back of Sylvain's horse, striding forward as the woman angled her wyvern into a dive. Bernadetta and Ashe split apart, backing away and trying to shoot her down with; Annette cried in panic and tried to pull Dedue out of the way – he couldn't really move, with where the tomahawk had hit him – while Mercedes pulled herself free of his protective hold, tears staining her face.

The woman readied her ax as she approached; Annette raised a hand in defense -

Dimitri stepped over his friend's fallen form and raised Areadbhar over his head. “This battle is over,” He said with a calm he didn't feel.

The orange lance lit up like a dying sun.

He threw it upward with all the strength his Crest allowed, pushing the magic through the blade for one end.

Since he was right below her, the woman didn't see it coming. Areadbhar pierce through the wyvern's stomach just below the Aurora Shield and slammed straight through the creature, coming out its back and piercing through her armor to her stomach. She only had time to gasp and realize what was about to happen to her when it happened. That was when Atrocitykicked in.

Areadbhar was occasionally called 'the Devil's Lance' because of the unique ability it held within... When activated, Areadbhar would pierce through its opponent's armor and then unleash a destructive burst of magic that _exploded _within the enemy like a thousand lances. It targeted all vital organs, be they human or beast, and tore them to bloody shreds. The enemy might die instantly, might die choking on their own blood, might go into shock and die from bleeding out...but they always died in terrible pain.

The wvyern's body practically burst above them, drenching him and the others in its blood. The woman's body, Areadbhar still buried within, dropped to the ground a few feet away. Dimitri lowered his hand from his face, shuddering as he swept some gore from his hair, before dropping to his knees next to Dedue.

“What can I do?” He asked desperately as Mercedes examined the wound as carefully as possible. Dedue grunted, perhaps intending to reassure him somehow!, but ended up coughing and spitting up a mouthful of blood.

“Help me get it out,” Mercedes responded, hiccuping as she tried to force down her distress. “Pull it straight up, don't wiggle it, or the wound will be torn further. Please-”

“I have this,” Dimitri said.

The roar of a demonic beast echoed after a crash of thunder. He grasped the tomahawk, forcibly taking a calming breath and willing his hands to steady, despite the following roars that accompanied the first. _Two, three, four...four at least. The Empire troops are on the bridge proper. _He gritted his teeth, then pulled hard; thankfully, the weapon came out cleanly despite everything.

Mercedes immediately cast Heal; moments later Annette was at her side to cast Recover on top of it. The large, ugly wound sealed up with nary a scar left behind; Dedue straightened up, rolling his shoulders back and giving them a faintly relieved smile. “Thank you,” He said easily.

Mercedes let out a choked sob and threw herself at him, hugging him as tightly as though the world would fall apart if she let go. Dedue looked briefly startled, then properly apologetic when Dimitri did his best to scowl at his friend through his relief. He patted her gently on the back and gave her a moment before urging her to stand up. “The battle will not wait for us,” he reminded them.

“Right. I'll yell at you later,” Dimitri said in a deadpan voice. Annette burst into startled laughter as he walked over to retrieve Areadbhar.

The woman's body...his stomach revolted when he looked at her. It...it wasn't quite pulp and mush, but it was close. Dimitri lost his fight with his gag reflex and leaned against the stone pillar, vomiting at least twice before he could settle his stomach. Making a point of looking _past _her, Dimitri carefully pulled Areadbhar loose and stepped over her to reach the battlefield proper-

A white form flickered overhead, accompanied by a massive golden glow. Dimitri jerked his head up to see Claude, wielding Failnaught and aiming it – behind him –?

A massive golden arrow flew down and struck the stone passageway beyond them; a demonic beast's screech hit his ears. Seconds later, another golden arrow flew down faster than the eye could track and struck the beast again; black dust was sent flying everywhere by the impact that killed it.

Ivory's glimmering form dipped down; he only knew it was Ivory because of Failnaught's arrows. A mirage had formed around her, rippling waves of color and fog that distorted the very air around her. It spread out around the wyvern, making it impossible to know where to fire to hit her. Dimitri could _see_, even through the increasingly heavy rain, dozens of arrows flying harmlessly through the mirage as Claude flew over the enemy army and fired again and again, circling overhead, aiming to do as much damage as possible while the mirage lasted.

“Goddess, but you are a sight,” Dimitri murmured tenderly, mostly to himself. Then he clapped his hands together and said, “We should retreat and find Byleth,” he didn't have time to curse himself for using her first name, so he just forged onward, “Hopefully the army is somewhat organized for a counterattack; we not of much use out here.”

“The Professor sent us to come get you!” Ashe said urgently, offering his hand to Annette, who gratefully took it and was lifted up onto his horse. Sylvain pulled him up onto horseback again as Dedue and Mercedes stood.

“Everyone's awake and armed, at least,” Bernadetta said meekly. “Of course, most of the mounts are still in the stables; some people have gone to get them, but it will take time.”

“Then we'll make time,” Sylvain responded confidently. “Let's go!”

The seven of them scrambled out of the corner of the bridge and back toward the small fortress on the bridge. Dimitri glanced back where Claude was flying over the enemy army and swore bitterly at the sight; there were at least five demonic beasts now standing on the bridge, along with rows and rows of mages, armored knights and men on horseback. However, their areal combatants were _gone_ – they'd all been taken out. Having defeated the last of their air born opponents, Claude wheeled around and began to make his way back, the mirage starting to stream behind him as it began to disperse.

_Be careful, _he pleaded silently.

“Dimitri!” Rodrigue called in relief as Sylvain made his way back to the fortress. Dimitri smiled apologetically, clasping the older man's hand to reassure him. Byleth appeared from within the fortress with Leonie on the back of her horse, quickly followed by Ingrid with her pegasus - Luin in hand. Her expression frantically searched the bridge for a moment before settling on him and the others; then it cracked with relief.

He did his best to smile for her, even though his stomach was still roiling and the dead woman's body burned into his eyes whenever he closed them.

“This side of the bridge is secure,” Byleth told Rodrigue, who sighed in relief. Judith nodded before turning to face the Empire forces across from them with a steely look of determination. Constance appeared from the fortress next, along with Lysithea, then Hapi, then Marianne, then Lorenz, each astride their mounts. The rest of their classmates were hurrying to join in; Felix came to a stop between Bernadetta and Dimitri (_despite how stridently he avoided looking at the latter, he'd spent a second searching him for injuries. Dimitri wondered if he'd imagined it, but the little smile on Rodrigue's face suggested he hadn't._), meanwhile Ignatz, Raphael and Flayn scrambled to Byleth's other side, the heavy rain soaking their hair to their skin. Glenn skidded to a halt, nearly slipping on the stone; Atra caught him, smiling in faint amusement at his cursing. (_would she be able to use her flame sword in this weather-?_) Hilda and Balthus brought up the rear, the former cursing and wringing out her hair while the latter was shaking out his bloodstained gauntlets. The rest of the army was still scrambling to form up, a large makeshift hospital resting further back where the victims of the surprise attack were still being cared for by Linhardt and Dorothea. “Now we need to secure the rest.”

“Their air commander is dead,” Dimitri said, shifting his grip on Areadbhar. “I – took care of her.”

Rodrigue blinked, then took on a knowing look. He walked forward a few steps, ostensibly to get a better look at the scene, but took the chance to squeeze his surrogate son's wrist reassuringly. The Red receded from the corners of the young king's eyes just a bit, and he smiled.

Ivory, the mirage now fully dissipated, landed right in front of Byleth. Claude sat back in his saddle a bit, balancing Failnaught in front of him. “Their ground commander is dead too,” He said with a smirk. “I really should give Gramps something nice when I see him next.” Something flickered through his eyes when he said that...something that was gone too fast for Dimitri to interpret. _I'll have to ask him later. _“They've still got a bunch of demonic beasts and various field commanders, but they're currently in significant disarray.”

Byleth rolled her shoulder and gave them a smile devoid of happiness. That expression made Dimitri's stomach sink.

_...I'll never forgive you for draining the happiness from her eyes, _he thought, a solemn sadness overshadowing his anger for a brief moment.

“I can take care of the Demonic Beasts,” She said mildly.

“I thought you'd say that,” Claude remarked. A brief frown proved that he'd seen it too. “Constance, use Bolting to keep the various field commanders from meeting up and forming any attack plans. Lysithea, keep one eye on Teach, but otherwise just fly overhead and use your discretion – they don't have many archers, and I'll take care of those that are here.” His brow furrowed as he examined the battlefield.

Behind him, he heard one of Gloucester's retainers lean over to Judith and whisper, “Are we really leaving a teenager to strategize-?”

“Shut up and do what he says,” Judith said flatly, one hand on her rapier. “He made the plans that kept Garreg Mach's walls up until we arrived.”

“-Hilda and Balthus, you can break open that formation, the battalions will follow in after you! Marianne, stay mobile and help wherever you think you're needed; Ashe will cover you. Yuri, cause as much chaos as you can, but don't get in over your head; shadow Atra and Glenn. Ingrid, Sylvain, you and Dimitri take care of any demonic beast that tries to avoid Teach.” Claude turned around further and started to say something, stalled, and gave Rodrigue a somewhat embarrassed look. “I'll leave the rest to your discretion,” He finished abruptly.

Rodrigue just smiled in response before turning and giving Dimitri a pointed look. Abruptly remembering that he was _King _now, not just the prince, he scrambled to make himself visible before giving his father-figure a desperate look. _What's the plan?, _he wanted to ask despite not daring to say the words out loud.

Thankfully, it was one that could be summed up in a few sentences.

* * *

“How many of these things does she have?!” Sylvain demanded as he ducked under the demonic beast's tail. His horse nickered in alarm, very much not liking being near the unnatural creature; she kept her nerves, however, and carried Sylvain out of the way so Dimitri could make use of the opening in the magic barrier.

“I suspect neither of us will like the answer to that,” Dimitri bit out. “Areadbhar...!”

Magic surged through the relic; the demonic beast swung its head towards him, bleeding from the holes where its eyes used to be before Ingrid stabbed them out with Luin, but it didn't react fast enough. He hurtled forward and rammed the lance into its chest.

Golden light flares out of the wound in all directions...then the demonic beast _exploded. _Literally exploded, spraying bones, teeth and claws in every direction while the various chunks of flesh dissolved into black dust. This time, there was no human corpse left behind in the ashes – Areadbhar had destroyed it so completely nothing was left but a small, fractured skull.

Dimitri spun the lance once and shifted his grip back into a proper ready stance, looking ahead to the troop of mages that had been standing behind the beast, puppeting it. One of them might have passed out just at the sight of him turning their way – or maybe they were hit by an arrow, it wasn't easy to tell with how hard the rain was coming down.

He was cold despite the warmth of the heavy fur overcoat he was wearing; his hair was slicked to his skull by the water and the chill was threatening to settle in despite how warmly he was dressed otherwise. “Next?” He asked sarcastically, pointing Areadbhar forward.

A number of them broke and ran. The rest, however, abandoned all common sense and charged towards him and Sylvain, throwing fireballs.

“Well if we don't want to talk about depressing things, how about a change of subject?” Sylvain asked lightly. If he'd been paying more attention, Dimitri probably would have realized he was in trouble – unfortunately, he was more focused on immediately pressing matters.

“Is this really the time?” Dimitri asked, clutching Sylvain's shoulders as the redhead lead his horse in a wide arc to avoid the magical attacks. Ingrid swooped down, slicing one mages back and scattering the formation before returning to the air.

The ground shook as Constance's Bolting struck home just over a dozen yards away from them; right afterwards, a pillar of purple and black light pierced through the rain and haze to swallow up the one demonic beast Byleth hadn't already torn apart. Hades Omega, the most powerful black magic spell ever created...Lysithea was practically invisible thanks to Maea's coloring mixed with the weather; he didn't envy her opponents. A mirage darted overhead, not far from Ingrid, a golden arrow flying from within to strike down an archer that had been taken aim at her.

“Hey, I think I deserve a medal for waiting as long as I have!” Sylvain complained, even as he flipped the Lance of Ruin around and slammed the butt of the weapon against the back of a mage's head. Jumping down from the horse again, Dimitri spun Areadbhar in a circle, slicing half a dozen mages along their backs. The remainder jumped away from him; they attempted to fire spells at him again, but this time he simply swung the relic lance to block the magic.

Sylvain charged them again, forcing them to scramble apart. Coming to a stop a few feet away from Dimitri, he blurted out as if he could no longer contain himself - “So about you and Claude-”

“Really? _Really?!_” Dimitri demanded, before cussing and throwing himself to the ground to avoid a Miasma spell from a completely different angle from his current targets. Grabbing a discarded, charred lance off the ground in his other hand, he smoothly turned, straightened up and threw it at the mage who'd attacked him from near the wooden bridge entrance to the main Myrddin.

“When did that happen? _How _did that happen?”

“Are we _really _talking about this now?!” The young king all but screeched, darting forward and bashing one of the mages with the flat side of Areadbhar's blade.

“Clearly if you have your way, we'll never talk about it!” Sylvain protested, turning his horse around and clicking his tongue three times. Long training kicked in and the mare kicked a mage in the back of the head, sending him sprawling. “Claude? _**Our **_Claude?”

“Do you know another Claude?” Dimitri dodged another Miasma and swung Areadbhar at the mage's leg this time; the blow severed one leg at the knee and knocked the other out from under the man, who fell with a scream.

“How? When? How? _Why?_” Sylvain fired out rapidly, stabbing the man through the shoulder with the lance and letting her fall to the ground.

“_**Because I love him?!**_” Dimitri retorted hotly, half a question and half a hysterical statement of fact; not liking what might have been implied by 'why' enough to momentarily forget how much trouble he'd gone to in order to keep this a secret.

“W-Wait, so you're in love? You're actually, seriously in love...and you didn't tell me?!” Sylvain moaned even as he turned around to face the mounted knights who were approaching them from the wooden bridge that connected to the far entrance to the bridge. “I thought we were friends!”

“I didn't tell you because I knew you would do this!” How he was having this conversation in the middle of the siege, Dimitri couldn't fathom. “The three of us are trying to keep this quiet-”

“The three of us? W-Wait a second,_ three of us_?” Sylvain asked, thunderstruck.

Dimitri slammed his palm against his forehead, raking them down his face. “_Oh, I'm in trouble later..._” He muttered.

“What?!” Ingrid swooped down next to him as the mounted knights began to rush towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, Dimitri saw Ingatz and Flayn fighting off across the field from them; Flayn was casting Nosferatu repeatedly while Ignatz protected her, rapidly switching between his rapier and his killer bow. Lorenz blurred past them, casting Miasma at a mounted knight; sending him toppling from his mount. Leonie was right behind him, firing two arrows at a time into the enemy lines that had fallen back to form a defensive line. “What was that?!”

Dimitri let out a frustrated noise and grabbed a short spear off of his red haired friend's saddle. “Sylvain, if we survive this, I am going to _throw you off this bridge_.” He informed him furiously; channeling that anger through his arm, he threw the spear at the knight leading the charge. The impact killed his mount and sent the man flying backwards.

“You've won the hearts of two different people...one of whom is Claude, the schemer who keeps everyone at arms length?” Sylvain continued as if he hadn't heard the blonde, leaving the latter quite sincerely pondering carrying out his threat in earnest. “And they agreed to share you?!”

“_What?!_” Ingrid exploded after flying down and having her pegasus kick another knight off his horse. “Dimitri, is that true?!”

“_Gerk_, yes, but we're keeping quiet for now, for good reasons! Please, have mercy on me and _keep your mouth shut Sylvain!_” Dimitri protested before ducking under a sword strike from the knight that had taken aim at him. Spinning around, he retrieved the short spear he'd thrown earlier and threw it again at the man's back. The impact and _crunch _made him wince; the man fell of his horse, impaled through the chest.

“You and Claude...and...who?” Ingrid demanded. “When did this happen? How did I not notice?!”

“Sylvain, you will _live to regret this day_,_” _the young king swore in helpless terror under his blonde friend's intense stare.

“Eep,” was all the redhead could manage.

“I can't believe I didn't notice this!” Ingrid raged, spinning around and venting her frustration at the poor, uninformed mage who for some reason thought that a fire spell would do anything of value to a pegasus or her rider. She smacked the girl in the face with the flat side of Luin's blade. “You've been smiling so often around Claude, you've spent so much time with him, you've absorbed his sense of humor, you've even picked up his knack for strategy! When did I start loosing track of you _that _badly? How?!” Without missing a beat, she urged her pegasus forward and had it slam both its front feet into another mage's face.

“Who's the third? Don't tell me it's Lorenz,” Sylvain begged.

“_WHAT?_” Dimitri sputtered, slipping on the rain-soaked ground and nearly falling on his face. Scrambling to regain his bearings, he charged after Ingrid to help her with the other mages. Sylvain kept stride with him. “Why the hell would you think _Lorenz_?”

“Oh thank goodness; I was having very bad mental images of having to entertain him at court for the rest of my life,” Sylvain said with a huge sigh of relief.

“No really, _I want to know why your mind went to Lorenz_.” He must be going mad, to be actively continuing this conversation while they fought! Yet somehow the familiar banter was actually clearing his head, rather than fatally distracting him. There was less pain in his chest and the screaming of the injured or dying wasn't quite so oppressive.

“Hey, I'm still wrapping my brain around the fact that you went and seduced Claude! It could be literally anyone as far as I can tell!” Sylvain protested; then he swung the Lance of Ruin in a wide arc. The horse that had approached him reared back, throwing its rider.

“There's no way it's Lorenz, have you listened to literally any conversation he's had with Claude? Or Dimitri, for that matter?” Ingrid asked the redhead incredulously, floating overhead and watching for an unexpected attack. Then she hesitated before uncertainly asking, “Is it Yuri? He and Claude get along really well...”

Dimitri's shoulders slumped in defeat. _They aren't going to let up...I'm going to be sleeping on the floor for sure. At least Glenn isn't here to make fun of me – oh, I'm just delaying the inevitable. I'd be better served bracing for impact. _“Well, at least Byleth might find this a bit funny,” He said ruefully.

The shrill wheeze that Sylvain let out in response was going to be warm memory in the future. Taking the chance to escape, Dimitri darted away from him and Ingrid's high-pitched demands for clarification toward the golden flares of light where Byleth was fighting the remains of the die-hard attackers.

Just to make sure she was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (cackles) I have been waiting for so long to write that conversation between Sylvain and Dimitri, you have no idea. If only I could draw, Sylvain's face would be so funny! 
> 
> Ladislava's death, though... (winces) Be honest with me, guys - should I up the rating of this fic to mature? It's beginning to occur to me that some of the death descriptions I've written - as briefly as I've mentioned them - might be stomach-churning. Also, should I add a Gore tag? I should probably add one...


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude comes to an important decision and the army sets out for Fort Merceus.

“A siege of Fort Merceus?” Judith raised one challenging eyebrow at him. It was still distractingly intimidating, though Claude had finally gotten enough confidence to meet it directly rather than gaze over her shoulder. “We have the manpower for it, but will our supply train keep up with a protracted siege? It's called the Stubborn Old General for a reason.”

“Unless we do something about it, the Empire will be able to freely marshal troops within and launch another attack on the Bridge,” Claude countered, smiling even as he contemplated how to sell this idea. “Either way, if we want to get to Enbarr, we have to contend with Merceus sooner or later. Since we know Empire troops are braving the Ohgma mountains to attack Faerghus, it's better that we keep up the pressure; or else they'll just reorganize. The Imperial army has a lot of man power and can call on more, depending on how well a conscription bill would go over for the masses.”

“I agree,” Rodrigue said with a slight frown. “We musn't give Thales and his minions more time to create new devices to bedevil us with.” His brow deepened in thought. “Theoretically the combined might of the relics could possibly break through the wall; it would be a gamble, however...”

“If we play our cards just right, we might not have to break through the walls at all,” Claude responded easily. Turning his attention to Linhardt and Dorothea, both of whom were sitting at the war council at his request, he asked (mostly for the Lord's benefits), “Hey Linhardt, you said that during the siege, some Empire soldiers said they were sent by your father to retrieve you. Did they escape or were they taken prisoner?”

“They're being held in prisons in Abyss, unless Sir Catherine changed that before leaving to search for Lady Rhea.” Linhardt answered. “Being my parent's only child, I doubt those special circumstances have lifted just yet...likely my father asked for a guarantee that I wouldn't be executed in exchange for helping her ascend.”

He didn't call her Edelgard anymore. Or Hresvelg, or even Emperor. Just 'she' or 'her'. Claude wasn't sure if that was an emotional distancing tactic, or a sign of how betrayed the green-haired boy felt.

“Right,” Claude clicked his tongue and took a drink of Noa cider. “Would you and Dorothea feel up to a bit of misdirection and sabotage?”

Linhardt tilted his head to the side. Across from him, sitting between Judith and Dimitri, Byleth blinked twice before her eyes lit up with understanding. “I'm not much of a front line fighter,” Linhardt started slowly, before smiling ever so slightly. “So I suppose I was meant for more sneaky roles.”

“You want to the two of us to be decoys?” Dorothea asked uncertainly.

“I think you guys, and a number of soldiers dressed in procured Imperial Uniforms, can be welcomed right into Fort Merceus without a single suspicious look thrown your way.” Claude responded easily, tapping the forest area in front of the fort on the map on the table. “We'll even have a detachment chase you to the gates to sell the illusion better. If you tell them you're trying to get back to your family – well, they can't turn away some good news after the trouble they've been having, can they?”

Linhardt nodded slowly. “And at night, we can go to the gates and throw them open.” He said.

“There are two sets of entrance gates to Fort Merceus,” Claude hummed, pointing to the other gate. “We can split our forces in two and cover both of them; take the army inside completely off guard. They'll probably keep an eye on you for the first few days, so play nice and stick close to each other – and remember we won't be far away.”

“Ignatz can go with you,” Byleth mused thoughtfully. “He's an assassin, and he's not as recognizable as some of the other lords. Ashe too, now that I think about it.”

“If we can get inside that way, we'd loose far fewer people than if we put the fort to siege,” Dimitri said, Claude knew he was quickly warming to the idea. “Will you be alright doing this, Linhardt? Dorothea? I know the two of you have so far avoided being in the worst of the fighting.”

“If each battle we win is one step closer to the end of this war...I'll manage,” Dorothea said quietly. There was a dark shadow over her face; it twisted Claude's heart in a vice, because not everyone was meant to be a warrior, and she'd had any choice in the matter ripped away from her. He hated asking this of her now, putting her in the heart of something so terrible.

It really was a sign of how brave and determined a person she was that she volunteered anyway.

“It has promise,” Rodrigue said after a moment, studying the map. “Do we have any idea what troops are manning Fort Merceus now?”

“Ingrid and Hannah could lead a pegasus platoon from above the clouds to run scouting missions,” Byleth offered. “With seafaring spyglasses, it's an easy job.”

“They would have to fly quite high to avoid any chance of getting spotted,” Seteth noted. “I'd be happy to lead that mission, by your leave Lady Eisner.”

Byleth bit her lip briefly before nodding in assent. _Still don't like being called that, huh?_, he thought with a pang of sympathy.

“I think the squad that would go in with you has to be hand-picked, both to ensure your safety and to protect you if things go south.” Judith told Linhardt. “I can think of a few people.”

“So can I,” Rodrigue said. “Shall we address some specific concerns with this plan in mind? The last time I visited, there were at least four ballista within the walls themselves...”

The war council went on for another three hours; every area of the plan he had that the others helped him hash out was attacked and examined from every possible angle. A number of deserters from the Imperial army that had come to the Great Bridge of Myrddin in the days since their defeat of the invasion force were brought in and asked many questions; as fortune had it, one of them had been posted at Fort Merceus previously and thus provided them with additional, up-to-date information about the fortifications. There were four ballista still inside, two magical, and the Death Knight was in general command of the forces. _Him again?, _Claude thought sourly. _Sothis, I really hope we can do _something _about him this time, lest he pull another disappearing act. _A deep forest surrounded Fort Merceus from the north; after the woods were swept for Imperial scouts, they would make camp within the concealment of the many trees and put the plan into action. First, of course, they would have to travel there.

“Seteth, do you think we've well recovered from the attack a week ago?” Claude asked the bishop, who'd been keeping the medical records along with other administrative tasks that he, as a man of church, was trusted to be impartial with. As much as the Kingdom and Alliance were making friends, old habits died hard.

“Yes. With some last minute resupply courtesy of Lord Edmund, we can set out tomorrow morning.” Seteth said.

“Not sure if we should push for a quick travel or not. I guess it depends on how resistant the average Imperial is to letting us pass by.” Claude mused. “Of course, that's something we'll only learn on the road.”

He had a headache, and he was tired beyond belief; somehow this was even worse than the conferences he'd dealt with before. (_The tangible weight of the lives involved in each and every one of their decisions probably had something to do with that._) The cider was probably the only thing keeping him sane through these debates, and even then he desperately missed whatever it was his mother did to make her hand-made cider taste unique.

Fear left an acidic taste in his mouth.

He'd always been proud of his plans; only knowing about divine pulse and Byleth's use of it had ever shaken his confidence. But that had been in isolated battles, ones with comparatively low stakes. This was war, and now he was gambling Linhardt and Dorothea's lives on his belief that the plan would work.

If it didn't, those two might well end up in Thales's clutches, not to mention how many of his allies would die in the resulting rout.

_It's a good plan, kiddo, _a voice that sounded like Nader. _You can't agonize over the risks; no mortal warrior can plan for all eventualities. You've got a good head for this; trust it. _

Claude took another drink and tried to ignore his stomach's best efforts to tie itself up in a knot. _This is the best option, _he reminded himself. _Otherwise we have to blockage them in and try to stave them into surrender, all while our people are hammered by the ballista and whatever other over-the-wall tactics they put together. Not to mention the Empire would have more time to plan. _

_Linhardt agreed to go. ...I'll double-check and make sure he and Dorothea don't feel pressured into it. _

“We might have to live off the land once we're deep in Empire territory,” He said, half to himself. “A supply train can be cut off or even used against us, like the Emperor found out when we set the grass on fire at Garreg Mach.”

“That's awfully risky,” Judith mused. “We could bring some supplies and take some food from the land,as a means of covering our options. But ultimately I think we should put talk of that aside until after we attend to Fort Merceus; if we can hold it, it would make a useful resupply base.”

“True,” He hummed, resisting the urge to rub his forehead. _Every choice I make feels like I'm flipping a coin. I think I have new respect for you, pops. _

Thinking of home left him more anxious than ever to reach the end of this final council at the Bridge; long practice kept his fingers from twitching. Byleth suspected something was on his mind, judging by how she kept sneaking knowing, concerned looks at him. He smiled back at her, hoping he didn't look as wrung-out as he felt. _She's carrying enough burdens as it is. _He wondered how his mother was managing, if she'd gotten his last letter in good time.

Freaking out, probably. He didn't envy his father and Nader in their efforts to keep her calm.

Mercifully, Byleth gracefully rose from her seat a few minutes later and dismissed them, saying something about having a solid course of action would reassure the army. She was sort of emulating Rhea's posture and tone of voice, semi-successfully at that; she'd gotten better at it, too, the Knights of Serios watched her with adoration wherever she went.

Not that he was thinking very hard on that at this very moment. Instead he bowed to his fellow lords, shot a tired-looking Dimitri an encouraging look, and slipped out of the room.

It was a bit harder for him to slip away unnoticed now that he was Lord Riegan, the glorious Master Tactician (_he was going to kill the person who gave him that nickname, the army was going to look at him and think that he couldn't make mistakes, and when some of them died-_) after he almost single-handedly lead the army to successfully rout the Empire's surprise attack on the bridge. Now he had random knights and soldiers fretting about his safety, not wanting him to go anywhere alone lest he run afoul with assassins; it was both kind of gratifying to valued and unnerving.

But he'd spent years sneaking about and avoiding being seen even when – especially when, honestly – he was being seen. So he walked through the halls, tossing out a joke here and a teasing remark there before slipping into the stairwell that lead to the upper-most floor of the tower. The voices grew quiet as he ascended up the steps; a cool breeze blew through the tower, causing him to shiver. _These old buildings never well were insulated. _

Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder, just to be absolutely certain he wasn't being followed. Not that he imagined anyone would be suspicious of him, but there were still some things about him best kept quiet for the moment.

At least for the moment. Soon, very soon...he wouldn't be hiding anymore.

The thought sent a chill of anticipation down his spine.

The topmost room of the tower was the messenger hawk aviary. Claude let himself in – again, there was no one there; not a surprise, seeing as the army and the bridge guard were preparing for the march to Fort Merceus. With one final look over his shoulder, he closed the door behind him and walked over to the writer's desk.

Sitting down, he removed the letter from his inside coat pocket and reviewed it for the final time.

It was elegant in its simplicity – Almyrans never minced words, and often derided their Fodlan neighbors attempts to 'talk their enemies to death'. _It better be, anyway. This is my thirteenth draft. _It was a call to arms; a call of war. It spoke of Agartha, how they destroyed the old world before the Cataclysm, and how now they were using Edelgard as a pawn to wipe the slate of Fodlan clean – how they would inevitably spread beyond those borders to cleanse the world of 'inferior humans'.

_Come and fight for the fate of the world. Come and fight for life itself. _

Khalid's lip twitched upward. What proper Almyran wouldn't find that notion appealing?

The addition he added was brief, and addressed solely to his mother – _I'm well, and I'm making you and father proud. _That would give her more comfort than anything else until she could see him with her own eyes.

_I can't wait for you to meet Byleth and Dimitri._

Blowing on the ink to dry it, Claude folded the letter and placed it in a small black box, beneath a pair of amber earrings he'd bought two months ago. Packaging it, he wrote a brief note to his 'favorite maid' back at the Riegan estate – in actuality, an old friend of his mother who had been ensuring his letters reached his family in Almyra ever since he first came to the Alliance.

The note called it 'a gift for your troubles'. She knew what that meant.

Once he finished, Claude tied the packaged box with twine and started walking toward the chirping hawks that were waiting in their cages.

He hesitated, briefly. _Last chance to back out, princeling. _There was still a good chance that this choice could backfire on him. It could be too much for people of Fodlan to acknowledge that an Almyran prince was one of their own as well.

But after a moment, those fears passed. Seeing friendship and camaraderie forged in fire between people who had been divided and bitter toward each other for literal centuries had sparked a realization – if war was the great equalizer, an they all faced the same foe in the form of Agartha (_because why would they tolerate Almyra or Brigid or Dagda and their 'inferior humans' any more than those who lived in Fodlan_) then this was as good a chance as he would ever get to make it plain how little difference there truly was between both sides of his heritage.

...And they would need the largest army raised in Fodlan's history in order to storm Shamballa proper.

Claude grimaced as he remembered some of the details that Atra had given them; along with the knowledge that there was likely more that they couldn't account for since Atra wouldn't have been privy to them.

_If not now, then when? _

He opened the nearest cage; the hawk fluttered to the nearest perch, chirping in delight at the thought of getting to fly. “Hey there...you look like you're dying to stretch your wings.” The hawk chirped again, flapping its wings as he carefully tied the small box to its foot. “It's very light, I promise.” Taking the bird on his arm, he moved to the window, opened it, and urged the bird into flight.

The hawk took off, quickly vanishing into the horizon. Claude let out a long breath as he tracked its flight until it was no longer possible.

_Here goes nothing. _

A strange mix of feelings sat in his chest, wrestling for supremacy. He bit his lip for a moment, then headed back to the stairs with a small half smile.

_Well, whatever happens next...at least I won't live my whole life denying who I am. _

* * *

“Sylvain, I would love to know why you've been staring a hole in the back of my head for the last three days.” Claude said blandly, pretending to be fully absorbed in adjusting Ivory's saddle and not paying any mind to the redhead in the stall across from him. “My hair isn't that much of a mess yet, is it? We can't exactly bring luxuries out on a war trail.”

“Oh, no reason,” Sylvain said with _terrible _false-casualness.

Claude snorted and dryly said, “I'm flattered by the attention, but you're not my type. Better luck elsewhere, you valiant romantic – but you're used to hearing that by now, right?”

Sylvain made a strangled choking sound; Claude twisted slightly to look over his shoulder at the redhead. Yup, he was gaping at him. At least he was keeping his mouth shut; mostly.

The brunette had very much not appreciated Ingrid dragging him off after the victory dinner, cornering him in a tower and demanding to know his intentions toward Dimitri. That had been a very awkward, _very scary_ conversation, because she'd _also _known about Byleth.

Needless to say, Dimitri _instantly _threw his old friend under the wyvern pack when asked.

Unfortunately, the various ways he might have gained retribution on the loud-mouthed womanizer could be potentially misconstrued in a war camp, so he'd have to settle for glaring. _At least Dedue doesn't know yet. Hopefully. I think one horribly long, awkward and uncomfortable conversation where I fight to convince a Faerghus noble that I'm not stringing either of my future spouses along – and, in fact, intend to do right by both of them – is enough for me!_

Claude wasn't as annoyed with Dimitri for slipping up as he would have been otherwise. He was now keenly aware of how fragile his king's emotions were in the heat of battle; frankly, being distracted by Sylvain's probing into his love life was preferable to his slipping into a manic state where he sought the blood of his enemies at the expense of all reason and potentially his own life.

Byleth was frazzled and slightly panicky, however, and _that _was just unacceptable. She fretted about rumors spreading and the effect it could have on how the army perceived them – as if she wasn't wracking her mind about enough already!

He fully intended to needle and annoy Sylvain as much as possible in retaliation.

“There's a good joke,” Ashe said dryly. Claude let out a startled laugh while Sylvain sputtered in protest. _When Ashe is making fun of you, you know you've made it easy! _“We're going to be marching across Gronder Field, right? ...That's where the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was held.”

There was a wistful note in the other boy's voice. With a sympathetic sigh, Claude reached over and ruffled his hair; Ashe squawked but didn't pull away from the affectionate gesture. “It's the fastest route. We won't be lingering there long.”

“Right,” Ashe murmured. His horse nickered and nuzzled his shoulder, as if sensing his low mood. The silver-haired boy chuckled and patted his neck. “I know, boy. Thanks.”

“Sleep well last night, Ashe? You look better than yesterday.” Claude asked, examining his friend's face. The shadows under Ashe's eyes, which had been pretty bad after the battle on the bridge, were much less pronounced now.

Ashe..._blushed_, looked everywhere except at him, and nodded semi-frantically. “Y-yeah. Marianne made me a sleep inducer, and it helped a lot.”

“Is that right?” Claude asked teasingly.

“Y-Yes, of _course_!” Ashe protested, pressing his hand against his chest. Claude casually caught his wrist when he moved to mount his horse and tilted his hand.

There was a small silver ring on the boy's finger, studded with a single sapphire. Seeing this, the brunette grinned at him, patted him on the head, and winked. Ashe's blush deepened; he pressed against his horse's side as if hoping he would disappear.

“Heh, I'm just teasing. You're too sweet to get up to anything nefarious,” Claude joked, letting go of his hand. _If the two of them did anything more than cuddle last night, I'd be __**very **__surprised. _

“Claaaaaude...” Ashe whined in protest; he did smile though, which was a relief.

“Be nice to Ashe, Claude,” Marianne said quietly as she lead Dorte past them. Her eyes sparkled with warmth nevertheless; Ashe smiled shyly at her.

“I'm always nice! Aren't I, Teach?” He protested, turning to his darling professor who had walked up behind them.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Byleth asked teasingly. He pouted at her while Ashe, Marianne and Sylvain got to laugh at his expense. “Hello, Ivory. How do you feel about carrying me as well today?”

Ivory thrashed her tail and stretched her neck forward to nuzzle Byleth's raised hand; she'd very quickly decided she liked Teach, becoming almost as possessive of her as she was of Claude himself. She often sulked when she spotted her riding alone or with someone other than Dimitri. “You're so sweet,” Byleth cooed, scratching behind her horns.

Claude snorted. “She's all sweetness when you're around; wait until you've found her when her dinner is late.” Ivory growled and clawed at the floor. “Oh, don't give me that. You're a brat; I love you, but you're a brat.”

Byleth's smile took a mischievous edge. “No wonder you two bonded so easily.”

“Oh, c'mon!” He whined in protest; her free hand snaked over and grasped his wrist, lovingly rubbing her thumb against his palm. “That's no fair. And I'm letting you share Ivory and everything.” Nevertheless, he let her into the stall and helped her into the saddle.

The rain had let up and the clouds cleared after two days of violent storms; the sun beamed down on them, warming his skin as Ivory took to the air. As she often did during marches, she didn't rise too far from the ground so he could keep line of sight with the army columns, but was high up enough that he could have a quiet conversation with Byleth without the fear of being overhead.

“I sent the letter,” He told her quietly.

Byleth twitched slightly; he could see the thoughtful look on her face, even though she was leaning back against his chest and gazing ahead. “When do you think they'll get it?”

“Not for a month and a half, at the very least. There's a lot of distance to cover, after all.”

“We might be in the Enbarr by then. Who will receive them if they move into the Alliance while you're away?”

“Gramps.”

He felt Byleth tense up. “Your grandfather will?”

“I had a chance to see him, when we traveled through the edge of the Riegan lands.”

* * *

“_Your grandfather is there. Please, my lord, follow me.” It wasn't really a question. _

_It still startled the hell out of Claude; he spun around and stared disbelievingly at the retainer who'd always been at his grandfather's side. The man was old as well, and wouldn't be joining them on the front lines – instead remaining behind to keep order at home. “You brought gramps **here**?” He said, unable to hide his incredulity. “He's not healthy enough to travel!”_

“_Nevertheless, he insisted. Please come with me,” The man repeated. He looked tired, moreso than the brunette had ever seen him before. _

_Too stunned to do anything else, Claude trotted after him up the stairs of the massive hotel his column of the army was staying in. There were plenty of guards, at least; they weren't taking what little health his grandfather had left for granted. The retainer stood by the door to the suite and gestured for him to enter. _

_Biting his lip, Claude opened the door and walked inside. _What are you doing, gramps? You know this is too much for you now, _he thought as he gazed at the sole prone figure within the elegant room's confines. _

_Henry von Riegan was lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling. His color was gray; he looked all his seventy-eight years and more besides. Yet when the door opened, he said in a still-strong voice, “Come and sit, Khalid.”_

_Claude did _not _come and sit. He was too stunned to do anything but stand there, the doorknob slipping from his fingers and causing the door to slam shut behind him. “W-What did you just call me?” He asked in disbelief. _I can't have heard that right. Did he just...?

“_You heard me well enough. Your keen ears that catch so many secrets have not suddenly failed you, have they?” Henry broke into a rough coughing fit after speaking these words. The tremors shook his entire body; pain radiated at every sound. _

_Rocking back on his heels, Claude hurried to his bedside and grabbed a water jug, pouring out a glass. Carefully he slid his hand underneath his grandfather's head and lifted it so he could drink from the mug without choking. _That sounds worse than last I remember, _he noted very distantly. _...You don't have much time left, do you gramps...?

“_Where'd you find that shield you sent me?” He asked in an attempt to buy himself time to organize his thoughts. “It saved my hide a few times during the siege.”_

“_It was lost in some old family vault; I had it dug up.” Henry said dismissively as Claude settled him back on the bed. “May it serve you well in the battles to come, Khalid, and whatever struggles follow in their aftermath.”_

“_You...have never called by that name before. Ever.” _You'd done anything you could to avoid acknowledging my father.

_Henry cleared his throat, coughing with less violence and closing his eyes. Claude automatically laid a hand on his forehead, wincing at the heat he could feel radiating off the old man's skin. “They told me you were the one who devised the defense of the monastery, and crippled the Empire's supplies with one of your plans. Remarkable, for such a young man.” _

“_I've grown a lot,” Claude responded uncertainly, soaking a cloth in a bowl of cold water and spreading it over Henry's forehead. _

“_Thank you,” The old man sighed. “Agartha, Khalid; Agartha... I had never felt old until you told me of them and the girl who left them to save us. Is she here?” Claude nodded. “...She's been on my mind much; her conscience bade her to abandon all that she was taught to be good and just in the world to save those that were 'beneath' her.” He snorted. “Perhaps it is the young who are wise, and we old fools are the ones clinging to hate and weakness.” _

“_Gramps, are you alright?”_

“_You well know the answer to that.” Henry said, turning his faded green eyes towards his grandson. “The girl came here for her conscience. What made you value your old fool of a grandfather and his home?”_

“_...Why should the two parts of who I am divide me?” Claude asked, finally speaking the question that had been sitting in the back of his mind ever since he was a child. _

_Henry gazed back at him, his eyes intense despite their milky color. “...Win this war, Khalid. Not just by defeating your enemy, but by tearing up the roots that made it possible. If you must send messages beyond our lands to make this possible, I'll see them gone away.”_

_Claude's throat was too tight to speak. He could only nod, gently brushing his grandfather's hair away from his face. “You're burning up, gramps.” He managed after a painfully long moment. “Please tell me your physician came with you.” _

* * *

“...Did he meet Atra while we were there? She slipped off after dinner.” Byleth asked.

“Yeah. I brought her up to visit him after he was made a little more comfortable. I waited outside while they were talking; she spent at least an hour with him.” Claude glanced down at the ground, searching for the renegade who was riding with Yuri. “She looked really...thoughtful, for lack of a better word, when she finally left.”

“How are you feeling?”

“...I don't know what I'm feeling right at this second.” Claude felt a hard lump forming in his throat, and the corners of his eyes burned. “I...might end up ranting and cursing and generally loosing it in the not too distant future, though.”

“We'll be there for you,” Byleth promised him quietly, tilting her head and kissing his jaw.

“Thank you.”

Claude felt a tear drip down his cheek and did his best to blink it away.

If they were going to call him the Master Tactician, he should at least look the part, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really freaking curious about Claude's relationship with his grandfather; he alludes to the old man a few times, but rather evasively. From what little I gather, from Tiana running away to Claude's occasional comments, his grandfather was sort of a foil to Lyn's grandfather from FE7 in that he could never fully accept his half-Almyran grandson. 
> 
> As I'm wont to, however, I'm expanding on their dynamic just a little bit - that and I guess it was Claude's turn to be sad after Dimitri got put through the wringer the last couple of chapters! 
> 
> I debated whether or not the Gronder Field battle would be included; ultimately I leaned towards no because the Empire is fighting an active battle on two fronts, and can't consolidate a huge army in a single location. Hope that makes sense. Our favorite students are headed for Merceus and their first proper encounter with Agartha's ultimate weapon. (clasps hands together) This is gonna be good.


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth has a dream of the past and continues the fight for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Well, maybe I should get started on the battle inside Fort Merceus  
My muse: Or you can write a bunch of lore that will pay off later, some character interaction, and the start of the battle in Fort Merceus!  
Me: Bwha?   
My muse: (zaps me with Ideas) Double tap! Double tap!

“Are you sure about this, Linhardt, Dorothea? This is your last chance to back out.”

“I know, Professor.”

Linhardt had changed from the Kingdom style outfit he'd favored since leaving Garreg Mach into a tattered overcoat and his school uniform. His hair was dirty and in disarray, and he'd deliberately 'gone for a roll in the mud' to sell the idea that he'd been on the run for several days. Dorothea had done the same to a lesser extent; there were leaves and twigs caught up in the tangles of her long hair, there was dirt under her nails and her songstress outfit, which she'd been so proud of, was ripped in multiple places.

Seeing them like this sent sparks of anxiety through Byleth's stomach. If the Empire found out about their plan and imprisoned them, they'd probably look much worse when she finally managed to reach them again...if she could even reach them.

“We've given it a lot of thought,” Dorothea put in. “It's the only plan that'll get us into Fort Merceus without a siege. If all goes well, we'll be able to take it in a single day without loosing too many people.” A dark shadow fell over her face; a familiar one, too. Despite the fact that she'd generally stuck to acting as a medic and didn't fight unless enemies got close, war was taking a toll on her... “That makes it worth the risk.”

“I've yet to see a plan of Claude's fail,” Linhardt said calmly, his light tone ill-matched with his solemn expression. “My father wants me back, so I can't see any reason that we'd be discovered before the army got inside. Try not to worry too much about us, okay?”

He actually smiled at her after saying that – a faint smile, but a real one. Her chest tightening, Byleth stepped forward and enveloped him in a hug for a lingering moment before doing the same to Dorothea. “I'm so proud of you two, and I'm so scared. Be careful. Never let your guard down.”

“We won't.”

“We'll take good care of them, Your Worship.” One of the twenty Empire deserters promised. Each of them was highly devout, and between Edelgard's persecution of their faith and the violence of war, they'd defected to join the Knights of Serios. Byleth was a bit nervous trusting them with her precious students nonetheless, so she'd mixed a few unassuming Knights that Seteth had directed to serve her specifically. “No harm will come to them as long as we draw breath.”

“That's reassuring,” Byleth said; it was only partially a lie. She doubted anything would soothe her anxiety until she found them unharmed after they stormed the fort. “Be sure to stay together once inside; don't let them separate you. Remember to pretend to be amiable with any guards they assign you for a little while before attempting to give them the slip.”

“Claude and Flayn provided me with sleeping draughts,” Dorothea said, revealing a number of vials from one of her dresses deep pockets for emphasis. “They'll take care of any guards we're assigned. We'll open the gates on the third day, right?”

“Yes, the third day.” Those forty-eight hours were going to be pure torture on her nerves, Byelth just knew it. “...I suppose there's no other advice I can offer that isn't blatantly obvious. Prepare to be chased; some of the archers will loose arrows, but they'll be aiming to miss, so don't panic, alright? It's all according to plan.”

Linhardt and Dorothea nodded. “We'll see you soon, Professor,” The green-haired boy promised. Then the two of them turned and began to make their way through the trees, the empire deserters at their heels.

Byleth watched them until the thick brush and forestry rendered it impossible to see them.

“You think they'll be suspected?” Hapi's voice startled her; she nearly jumped out of her skin before turning to face him. She was staring ahead into the trees, her eyes tracking as though still seeking Linhardt's back. They'd spent a lot of time together; she often found them sitting together, Linhardt rambling about this and that while Hapi's dry observations bounced right off his snark-proof hide. “They did refuse to join Edel and her mutt when she first demanded their alliance.”

“...Claude coached them for what questions he expected to be tossed their way,” Byleth said, breathing out slowly. “I think these people will buy that they just too frightened of war to initially join up, but were eventually swayed by their loyalty to the homeland. Linhardt is also protected by his parent's desire to see him brought home.”

“It's not that I don't trust Coyote to do his best to cover our bases,” Hapi said. (_Claude really liked her nickname for him; Dimitri was a little less enthused by the less comparatively intimidating 'Didi')_ “But he's been caught off guard by the behavior of the Empire before.”

“Not even the wisest can see all ends,” Byleth said quietly. “Have faith in everyone, Hapi. We'll do the best we can.”

“Faith, huh?” Hapi echoed, looking up at the sky. “After I got dragged all over and stuck in Abyss for something that was done to me, I didn't have much use for faith. But that was before I met you and the world got weird. ...Not sure I remember how to have faith.”

Hesitantly, Byleth reached out and clasped her hand reassuringly. The redhead hummed, still looking into the trees in the hopes of catching one more glimpse of her close friend before he fully embarked on this dangerous gamble. “Faith is unique to everyone. I think if you look deep enough within, you'll figure out your faith. You must have some...because you chose to follow me out into this mess rather than stay in Abyss.”

Hapi smiled faintly. “Yeah...I guess I did do that, didn't I?” She finally tore her eyes away from the treeline and turned to face her fully. “I thought that was just trust...but maybe there's overlap between those two words.”

Byleth nodded. Shouts and artificial sounds of combat started to drift between the trees; sighing heavily, she said, “we better pull back, just to be absolutely safe.”

Hapi's smile fell, but nodded in understanding nonetheless. The two of them turned and began to walk back to camp, an unspoken nervousness hanging in the air between them. “How will we know if they've made it and they've achieved their goal?” The redhead asked.

“There will be a light signal from the battlements,” Byleth answered. “The 'pursuing units' will linger in tree cover after Linhardt and the others 'escape', and will return once they've seen it.”

“Makes sense.”

It took them roughly fifteen minutes to return to camp; it was a testament to how dense this forest was that she couldn't see half the army with all the bushes, low hanging tree branches and other foliage in the way. Rodrigue, Judith and Seteth were at the 'front camp' waiting for her return; they relaxed when they stepped into the clearing.

“The decoys are away,” She said with what she hoped was solid confidence; she felt very tired all of a sudden.

“Then now there's nothing to do but wait,” Rodrigue said; he put a hand on her shoulder and smiled kindly at her. “With that in mind, I suggest we retire for now. It's been a long march.”

She couldn't help but give him a grateful look. _I suppose a father with three children would be better able to tell when someone's hiding their feelings in an effort to look stronger. _Judith had a knowing spark in her eyes, but she didn't object and neither did Seteth.

She didn't have to go very far to find her students; they were sitting in a ring around a coal pit, weapons and other equipment set aside, talking in low voices. Dimitri glanced up and brightened when he spotted her, waving for her to join him and take the empty place next to him on the log he'd been sitting on.

“So Linhardt and Dorothea have gone off...” Bernadetta murmured once she'd settled, worry heavy in her voice. She was sitting between Claude and Yuri, a sowing project sitting in her lap. It looked like a half-finished dragon, disarmingly cute with light blue and white fabric.

She was probably more worried than anyone else aside from Hapi or Byleth herself...she had been in class with them for three months, and Dorothea stayed a close friend of hers even after she transferred.

“They're not alone,” Byleth said to reassure her, before lightly switching the subject. “Is that the Immaculate One, Bern?”

Bernadetta blushed and ducked her head a bit, putting both her hands over her creation. “N-Not really! I, I'm just using my memory of it as a base for my own design...I mean...it was so beautiful and majestic, I couldn't help myself...”

“It's going to be adorably scary when it's done,” Claude said cheerily, ruffling her hair. Bernadetta squeaked and half ducked, half hid under his arm; across the coal pit from her, Felix jerked like was going to say something but stopped himself. Glenn, who was sitting next to Ingrid a few feet away, smirked knowingly at him. Felix seemed to sense this because he snapped his head over to his brother and scowled.

_Felix is jealous...are his feelings for her brotherly or romantic?_

_You need to ask?, _Sothis giggled lightly. _I think you ought to remind him that even the greatest of thieves can steal nothing with silence. _

_I wonder what's holding him back. He'd never been one to hold back when vocalizing his feelings. _

_Confessing one's heart desire is different than callings someone an idiot, as you well know, _her friend responded, a teasing note in her voice.

Byleth felt herself blush lightly and dropped her hand on top of Dimitri's. She felt her king lean a litter more on her shoulder, transmitting affection through the subtle touch. _Very funny, _she grumbled without much bite. _Is that your oh-so-subtle encouragement that I go and give him a nudge?_

_Oh, like you weren't already thinking of doing that. _

The joke, and correct observation, lifted some of the weight from her shoulders.

“What do you mean, adorably scary? Bern's toys are always adorable,” Hilda pouted. She was holding another doll in her hands that had been made by the diminutive archer; this one was a bear, pink and white and sporting a subtle heart design on its back leg. She mimed moving its front limbs in a hugging gesture, earning a chuckle from Balthus.

“You and I might have very different definitions of adorable,” Yuri teased. Bernadetta pouted up at him, rather than wilting in the slightest. The changes that had come over her since her transfer to the Golden Deer family were in turns subtle and outgoing; she was so much stronger now, so full of determination. Even in the moments where she was still shy and anxious, she didn't tremble or collapse quite so completely as before.

Yuri softened around her; looking at them sitting together, you'd be forgiven for believing they were cousins or even half-siblings with the ease and affection between them. Claude was the same; in my mind, Byleth thought of him as the middle sibling, a medium between a cynical older brother and a shy little sister. _Maybe Felix hasn't said anything because he doesn't think either Yuri or Claude would approve of him, _she thought semi-jokingly.

_Since when has Felix Fraldarius ever let other people's opinions affect his bullheaded determination to chase after what he wanted? _Sothis asked in response.

_Has he ever been in love before?_, Byleth wondered. _In my experience, that changes everything. _

Sothis pondered that. _...Perhaps that is what's pinning his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He may well need a nudge to make any sort of real move. _

“It keeps me calm,” Bernadetta said when she came back to Fodlan; the purple-haired girl ducked her head slightly. “They say that my father was put under house arrest after Edelgard ascended the throne, but what if that's just a rumor?” She shuddered. “Once we get to Enbarr...I'm going to have to see him again...”

Claude's expression flattened, green eyes flashing with anger. “You don't have to see him if you don't want to. We can deal with him.”

Felix frowned at that. “What's this about Bernadetta's father?”

Yuri snorted. “Don't call that man by a title he never earned. He's not likely to be a concern, given that his wife replaced him after he got locked up.”

Rather than accept that, Felix's frown deepened, his eyes flickering to Bernadetta. Not wanting her anxious friend to have to talk about her past in front of everyone, Byleth interjected. “Let's not worry about Enbarr until we're actually close to it. Even once we capture Fort Merceus, there's still quite a ways to go before we reach it. Especially if we hope to do something about Brigid.”

Constance tilted her head. “What _can _we do about Brigid without being able to deliver Petra safely to them?” She inquired. “Her grandfather has no other heirs. What could we offer them that would be more desirable than the safe return of the last of his family?”

“But at the same time, we don't want to have conflict with them.” Mercedes said, sadness flickering across her expression at the thought. “There's no reason for us to fight. Any lives lost in battles between us are lost in vain.”

Yuri leaned forward a bit, scowling slightly. “I haven't heard from my various rouges in the Empire since before the attack on the bridge, but word on the street is that Petra isn't particularly enthused about fighting us. I've sent word around to ensure everyone's looking for her and listening for where she and the people of Brigid who'd been summoned to her side are being deployed.”

“Thank you, Yuri.” Byleth bit her lip. _We ought to pay them for their troubles once we get their _ “Our best case scenario, we separate her from her Imperial handlers and deliver her safely back to Brigid. At least we can send a promise to the king that if we catch her, we'll return her to him unharmed. Either way, we'll be marching east across Empire lands after this.”

“Will we going near Lake Tetearus?” Leonie asked, a curious look in her eyes. “I heard that there's an old treasure that once belonged to Saint Indech there. If we're passing by, maybe we should go in and see if something really is there?”

“Um, is that really wise?” Ashe asked uncertainly, a distinct hint of nervousness in his voice. “There are a lot of stories about treasure hunters and glory seekers going into that lake and never being seen again...”

“Greedy gravediggers entering a sacred land and never coming out? My my, I wonder why that might have been,” Constance said with a semi-mocking laugh.

“...I don't know if we'll go near the lake, but if we do, I'll ask Seteth. Perhaps if Lady Rhea escaped capture at the Empire's hands, she fled to a sacred location such as that to hide...”

Byleth dearly hoped it was so. She wanted to see Rhea again; she wanted to ask her questions, to find out if she was leading people the way the older woman perceived her to be capable of. She just wanted to know if the closest she'd ever had to a mother figure was alive and well...

“Ugh, enough serious talk for now!” Hilda cried, pumped her arms. “We're all together, why don't we play a game? Let's pass the time doing something fun!”

Marianne perked up slightly. She was toying lightly with a ring that she most certainly had not been wearing before they left the Bridge of Myrddin; Byleth wondered how it was that Hilda hadn't noticed it yet. She was usually completely on top of her best friend's moods.

_And there was no way Hilda wouldn't drop everything to throw a party over Marianne getting engaged, war or no war. Even if it was an eloping, the pinkette would be vibrating and bouncing off the walls with excitement. _

It was a testament to how distracted they all were, she supposed.

* * *

They played games until the sun set, some board games Sylvain had stuck in his travel bag, others wordplay or guessing games. Their spirits somewhat buoyed by this familiar and affectionate byplay, the former students retreated to their various tents and did their best to go to sleep.

Byleth, waiting until most were asleep, crept her way to Dimitri and joined him on his futon. Sleeping next to her seemed to do much to keep his nightmares at bay.

Her own dreams, however, proved to be less easily swayed.

_Earth-shaking explosions seemed to rattle the very foundations of the earth; she was nearly pitched forward onto her face, catching herself on a pillar at the last moment. Blinking furiously, Byleth found herself standing in the middle of Garreg Mach's entrance hall; it took a moment for her to recognize it, because none of the symbols of Serios or the three kingdoms were hung from its rafters. “Them again,” She said – except it was Sothis's voice that passed through her lips. “After all the destruction they've already wrought, they're still bent on killing the few that still remain?”_

_Worried voices erupted from behind her, people talking on top of each other like frantic ducklings. She wasn't even given the chance to try and reassure them before the double doors burst open._

“_Grandmother! Grandmother!” A boy dressed in odd white and gold clothes, who looked to be about twelve-thirteen, ran through the opening with a three-year old girl under one arm. He had light green hair and bright green eyes; he spun on his heel and threw Aura at some unseen pursuer as a dozen other people in similar outfits scrambled in after him. “There are more refugees out there! They're coming over the hills!”_

“_Lian!” An older male voice burst from behind her, shock, relief and pure parental anger pouring from each syllable. As Byleth(**Sothis?**) hurried down the stairs to reach him, she was outpaced by a man in his early twenties who crossed the distance between them in an instant, crashing to his knees in front of the boy and examining him frantically. “Lian, what are you _doing –_ where is your mother?! **Why are you running around out there when those missiles are being thrown around!?**_”

_The young man had the same green hair and eyes that she had now, that Sothis had. He wore black and gold, and there was a sword buckled at his hip. Leaving the scolding to him, Byleth urged the bloody, filthy, desperate people to come to her, hands outstretched and glowing softly with healing magic. _

“_Mom is helping the others people come over the ridge! She sent me ahead with these people, the others are too weak to run!” Lian said indigently. He puffed up his chest, only to panic when the little girl he was holding started to cry; he held her carefully and tried to rock her back to sleep._

“_Macuil,” Byleth(**Sothis**) said chidingly as the young man drew in a deep breath, no doubt for an extended scolding. “Your son has been very brave; let us go and ensure that Isehime and those under her protection can reach this place safely too.” _

_Saint Macuil(?!)'s jaw clicked shut as his priorities overcame his initial panic – or perhaps just redirected it at the reminder that his wife was outside in that war zone. “R-Right, mother.” He scrambled to his feet and looked over his shoulder. “Indech-”_

“_Do you think you need to ask?” Another chiding voice interrupted; another young man with light green hair appeared from behind them, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. He had a simple bow strapped over his shoulder, he wore casual leather and a smile that faintly reminded her of Claude; he took a moment to ruffle his nephew's hair. “Let's go. Angharad, help our brave little Lian care for these people until we're back, alright?”_

“_Of course,” a female voice chided from somewhere behind them. “Now get going!” _

_Trusting her daughter (**her daughter?!**) to ease the pain and fear that had stalked these desperate humans for so long, Byleth hurried out of the double doors on Macuil and Indech's heels. _

_The sight outside was pure madness. The forest was burning; dotting the hills in all directions were massive stone figures firing massive blasts of red magic at each other. The sky was full of poisonous smoke; stone and steel birds swooped in and out of the suffocating blanket blocking out the moon, crashing into each other or grabbing vehicles from the ground and throwing them miles away to be dashed into pieces. _

_Flames licked the sky itself; the smell of death was pervasive, even mingled with the poison gas and dirt. Insults, death threats and curses flew through the air, transmitted through familiar frequencies; below these hulking death machines, highlighted by the greedy flames, were many tiny figures scrambling towards them while avoiding the death raining from above. _

_A star fell from the sky and hit the ground far behind them, the ground shook violently again; stone and metal flew up like a volcano had erupted. Snarling with anger, Byleth realized that two of the stone war machines were turning towards the group of haggard civilians fleeing the battlefield, and that **was. not. acceptable. **_

_Macuil and Indech both transformed in response to the sight; taking to the air, the two dragons – each in their own unique forms – launched themselves at the golems, breathing pure magic beams that pierced through and obliterated each in two devastating blows. Pushing her magic into her back, Byleth felt her wings manifest; she crossed the grass in a blur until she landed in front of the refugees fleeing from this terrible, **pointless** war that Agartha and Laputa had started. _

“_Mother!” Isehime cried in relief, holding out a small child to her. Byleth snarled when the **smell **of that poisonous radiation hit the roof of her mouth as she leaned over that poor boy. The human girl who'd won her son's heart was bleeding from her feet, her arms and her back, yet the indomitable spirit in her eyes was undimmed. “Please, they've all been irradiated – I can't -” _

“_Say no more,” Byleth said as reassuringly as she could, holding both her hands over the little boy and pushing healing magic through his entire body. Ridding mortal bodies of radiation was trying, taking twice as much magic as normal wounds. But it could be done; she could do it, and she had taught Angharad and Artemis to do the same. _

_The boy began to cry seconds later; Isehime nearly collapsed in relief and pain. Macuil's furious roar echoed over the grounds as he attacked another golem that had turned its pitiless eyes towards those fleeing to the only neutral land left in this world. Byleth quickly gave Isehime and the refugees a quick-fix heal and said, “Quickly, my family awaits. There are only a few yards to safety; run as fast as you can. We will protect you.”_

“_Everyone, to the monastery!” Isehime cried, her voice a rally to the others. A ragged cry of hope and relief echoed from smoky, rough throats.“Hurry! We'll only be in the way out here.” _

_Byleth rose to the air, feeling her body shifting shape as she did so. Indech was circling around his brother who had taken a hit, blasting away at the golems who seemed to resent their intrusion on the bloody grudge match. Keeping her back to her fleeing humans, Byleth rose higher up to the sky, keeping one eye on her boys as one eye trained on the sky._

_Sure enough, more of those missiles had been launched from both sides. _They will poison the whole world at this rate! No living thing will be able to call these ruins home; and yet they still persist with this madness?! _Her heart twisted with anger and grief, the thought of what she might have to do sitting heavily upon her. _No. No more of this today.

_She reached into the vast wells of her power and breathed out. A blinding blast of starlight burst from her throat, tearing through the missiles and detonating them far above their targets. She guided the beam as she turned, taking out dozens in a single swing; she flew above the toxic miasma and swept her wings outward with a grunt of exertion._

_It blew the clouds away; she couldn't purify the air now, she didn't have the time. She had to ensure the humans free of the madness that had claimed the two kingdoms of this world reached safety before she forced these armies to disperse. Thankfully they were making good time despite how exhausted they must have been and how long they had been running. She was keenly aware that the monastery was starting to run short on room with the hundreds, bordering on thousands, who were already hiding within. _

_Once they were through those doors, however, she decided with determination that since they had brought their war to her doorstep, she had no choice but to voice her opinions on this matter **now**._

“_**Cease this useless fighting! You have brought war to my doorstep, in VIOLATION of my warning that I would tolerate no violence within my domain! Leave, and take your poison with you! Leave and tell your masters that if war returns to this place again...I will not be so merciful!”**_

_And she unleashed a wave of her power – not enough to destroy them, but enough to get her point across. It sent both sides reeling. _

_Indech and Macuil, confident that this was the end of the matter, retreated back to check on the refugees. She would linger long enough to make sure they dispersed, then return and do the same. Angharad had everything in hard, she knew; but it would give the humans who'd fled unimaginable horror some peace of mind to see her ensure their comfort. _

_The last missile exploded, blindingly white in the sky below-_

Byleth gasped, a spasm wracking her muscles as she jerked with wakefulness. She scrambled up into a sitting position, her fingers groping with the blanket that had been twisted around her in all her tossing and turning. Her blood was racing; the images from the dream were so intense she could still see them as she blinked, the torches and first rays of dawn not enough to drive them away.

_W-What was that...?_

_I... _Sothis's voice made Byleth start. It... it was _shaky_. The last time she'd spoken with such uncertainty and unease was...that night in the Holy Masoleum... _I think it was one of my memories...from the ending of the world..._

_That? That scene there... _Byleth bit her lip very hard, her foggy mind pawing at the details and the various moments. _Those things...were those Titanus? The way Atra described them...it's almost a perfect fit... _

_I – I suppose they must be. ...Macuil...Indech...Lian..._

_The Saints, _the realization hit her like an avalanche when her mind woke up a bit more, and she recalled what she (_Sothis-_) had said to them. _The Saints, they were – they were your children? _There was another name, another mentioned – An – Angharad? Artemis? Was she remembering that right? _Lian called your grandmother...! _

She could see his face clearly in her mind; sweet and soft and full of bright innocence, windswept curly green hair falling around his high cheeks. None of the scriptures had mentioned Macuil having a son, had they? She wracked her brain, trying to remember, but everything was coming up blank. Why wasn't there any record of him having a son? Why had Lian slipped through the cracks of history, instead of heading a family the way Cethleann had?

...What happened to Lian and Isehime? Or Angharad?

Sothis _keened, _the noise nearly making Byleth jumped out of her skin. She'd _never _heard her goddess and friend sound so completely distressed? In her mind's eye, she saw Sothis draw into herself, wrapping her arms around her chest.

Making a small distressed noise of her own, Byleth did what Sothis had done for her many times now – she sent a phantom hug and as much reassurance as she could muster while her head was still spinning from her intense dream.

“Byleth?” Dimitri's soft voice distracted her slightly; he opened one eye and looked up at her. When he saw her expression, his face softened with concern and he scrambled to sit up himself. He pressed a soft kiss on her bare shoulder and gave him an imploring look. “What's wrong?”

“I...I had this dream...”

In halting tones, still devoting some of her concentration to comforting a distressed Sothis, Byleth explained the memory as best she could to him. Dimitri's eyes grew very wide across her explanation, and by the time she finished he looked just about as shaken.

“The Saints were Sothis's children...?” The young king breathed, his blue eyes wide as plates. “T-That...how could the church have no record of that? If Indech and Macuil both were, would not Serios, Cichol and Cethleann been as well?”

“...I'm beginning to think that Claude is more right than he knows,” Byleth admitted, her throat feeling dry. “Someone – whoever wrote the scriptures – deliberately left out information about the very goddess the religion worships. This is more than just a few omissions here and there; it left out the reason for the cataclysm and certain particulars of Sothis's relationship with humanity.”

“It goes against everything I know to say this...but the wholesale exclusion of Agartha from the scriptures is beginning to seem almost sinister.” Dimitri murmured. “Perhaps the nature of the Great Cataclysm is the root cause of them being forgotten, but...”

“I wouldn't rule it out, yet...ah, Claude's cynicism is rubbing off on me...” Byleth pressed her hand against her face, propping her elbow up on her knee. “I didn't see Serios in that dream...I wonder if I'll see another memory next I fall asleep...?”

“Has this ever happened before?”

“Once. When we were chasing after the chalice. But that was the only time...now that I think about it, I must have been witnessing Sothis healing the world after the cataclysm. After that, I didn't have another dream like it until now.”

“Perhaps it's because you've taken on Sothis's heart?”

“Maybe.” Byleth's fingers dug into her temple, a hiss of frustration blowing out between her teeth.

_I saw my children..._Sothis murmured, her voice a little steadier but still plaintive. _What happened to my children? I went to sleep...then there was pain, and then I woke up with you. What happened...to my children...? _

_We'll find out, Sothis. I promise. _“I don't think I'm going to fall asleep any time soon,” She murmured.

Dimitri ran his hand down her back; she sighed and leaned into his touch, letting it drain away some of her distraction. “Then don't,” He said. “Dress and get some fresh air, my beloved. I'll join you shortly.”

“You're sure you shouldn't get more sleep?”

“I'm more rested than I've been in a while....don't worry about me.”

Accepting that for what it was (_she hadn't been woken in the night by him shaking and sobbing in his sleep, after all_), Byleth carefully dressed and put her shoes on. Then she carefully opened the tent and slipped out, walking through the trees and brush in order to avoid looking like she'd slept next to Dimitri. A good idea, since she wasn't the only person awake; aside from the camp guards, Yuri and a few knights she sort of recognized were sitting by a campfire, making small talk. As she came closer, she realized with a start that these were the men who'd been 'chasing' Linhardt, Dorothea and their backup into Fort Merceus.

Yuri saw her out of the corner of his eye and turned to wave her over. Knowing what was on her mind, he mouthed out, 'the plan is progressing smoothly' as she came and sat next to him on the log he'd procured.

A dizzying rush of relief washed over Byleth. She knew that the knights wouldn't have been able to tell if her students had been received with suspicion, this strongly suggested that they had taken the bait. All they had to do was wait, lull the guard into a sense of security...then Linhardt would strike. Tomorrow they would move their camp closer. The day after that...the next battle of the war.

_Be careful in there, my friends. Please, please be careful. You're sleeping with the enemy within those walls...don't loose heart..._

“Care to join our game of cards, Professor?” Yuri gave her a self deprecating smile when the other knights frowned at him. “Sorry, I really should be calling you Lady Eisner...but it just feels so strange. I guess I'm too used to being your student.”

“I'd love to,” She said, smiling a bit in how the words made the knights eyes light up. “What are we playing?”

* * *

Time crawled by agonizingly slowly.

They'd received the late night light message from Linhardt and the others; now they were creeping closer to the 'Stubborn Old General', pointing weapons at every shadow as nerves grew more strained by the waiting game. The worst part of it was that Byleth couldn't afford to show that she was nervous, or else everyone else would loose morale. Claude and Dimitri were stuck in the same boat, and it was only in the few moments they were able to steal for themselves that they were able to vent their less-than-confident feelings about what was to come.

_I don't know how Rodrigue and Judith do it, _Byleth thought morosely on the morning of the second day, watching the two chat amicably as if they were just on a casual trip in the Empire rather than the leaders of a counter-invasion force. _Maybe they'll share some secrets if I ask..._

The time did come, however. The army approached Fort Merceus, now visible even through the dense foliage, the early morning light bathing the massive stone fortress in pale gold rays.

“Easy there, girl. Easy!” Lysithea hissed, tugging on Maea's reins. The black pegasus snorted and stomped on the ground impatiently. “C'mon, don't give me that. We'll be in the air very soon, I promise.”

“They are frustrated from being under tree cover for so long,” Constance said in her quiet daylight persona; her pegasus was not much better behaved, beating his wings meaningfully to vocalize his desire. “Being unable to see the sky makes pegasi reckless.”

“Well, they need to stay calm for a few minutes longer.” Claude murmured; Ivory growled lowly, nosing the edge of the treeline and staring intently at the gates directly in front of them. “I wonder if Mitya and the others are having this much trouble with their mounts.”

The army was split in half, one taking the northern gate, Byleth and Claude's taking the south. In spite of what she'd honestly expected, each side was a mix of Kingdom and Alliance troops, each choosing which side they thought their talents would be most useful at. The sign of unity raised her spirits, to be honest. Everyone was ready; now they were just waiting for a sign.

“You don't think they were caught?” Bernadetta asked anxiously, patting Nico's mane as he snorted and threw his head back.

“They'll make it,” Leonie said with cool confidence. Her fingers were rock-solid along the length of her reinforced silver bow; her quiver was heavy with arrows, including anti-beast arrowheads (_every archer had at least a few in their quivers, considering how many beasts they had seen already_) while the intricate webbing of her brave lance glinted in the low light.

Byleth narrowed her eyes against the glare as she peered up at the stone battlements so high above them; occasionally she could see one or two men patrolling its length, but they were the night shift, and their rounds were ponderous and spaced well apart. _Few people are awake. They might also just be confident; this fort has withstood many sieges. _

_Good thing we're not putting it to siege then. _

“Do we have the men to hold this fortress after we capture it?” Lorenz asked with a slight frown, looking up at its walls.

Byleth grimaced. He had a good point; they couldn't afford to leave more than a skeleton guard to man the fortress if they wanted to maintain their strength moving onward. “If all goes well, the Empire will be too preoccupied to try and reclaim it.” She said.

Edelgard's decision to fight on two fronts was proving to be both a bane and boon for them.

“Goddess, give us strength,” Marianne murmured.

_I'll do what I can, _Sothis responded with only a faint sense of humor. She was still troubled by the memory they'd both witnessed... Byleth sent a wave of sympathy and warmth toward her friend. _Ah, no need for that; I'm paying attention to the situation in front of us, I promise. _Yet the goddess's gratitude filtered through nonetheless.

A light flickered through the openings of the gate. Byleth's breath hitched; the light flickered once, twice, three times...and then groaned as they started to open. “Come,” She ordered. “Come without shouts and horns; today, we land our first true strike against the Empire...let our determination speak for itself!”

With that, and a barrage of muted cheers, she threw herself forward, leaving the trees and bolting for the entrance that was opening up before her. She could see Linhardt and two men with him turning and blasting away at what few men had been guarding the gate before scrambling outside, pushing power through her legs, she reached them a minute later, lashing out the Sword of the Creator and knocking down the man who had managed to avoid the defector's lance strikes and got out one frantic blow of a warning horn.

“Good to see you, Professor,” Linhardt said, smiling at her. “Things got a bit tense there a couple times.” He shook his head. “I always found Jeritza a little unsettling, but his death knight persona is much worse...honestly, it's hard to fathom how they're the same person.”

“Well, worry about that later. Mount up with Marianne; the rest of you, join up with your unit!” With those orders, Byleth rushed into the fort proper, waiting just long enough to see their nods of acceptance.

The inside of Fort Merceus was remarkable if only for its sheer size; it was a winding maze with dead ends, a number of raised platforms for its multiple ballistics, two separate barracks and houses for civilians to theoretically retreat to in an invasion. (_likely there weren't many, if any, here now; they had avoided sacking any of the villages in their path, buying supplies at a slightly lower price to avoid bitterly alienating the civilians that would survive the war_) Byleth darted straight to the wall between her and line-of-sight of the northern gates; punching her feet into the wall and swinging herself up onto the top. Balancing on the thin wall, she saw the gate hanging wide open and their people pouring through; while she couldn't see Dorothea herself, likely she was swept up in the crowd and would continue her role as a medic. Linhardt didn't indicate that she'd been caught.

However, the one blast of that warning horn had been enough to rouse the troops in the wall. Amazingly, even in the brief time as various battalions formed up and the army began to march inward, the Imperial troops were pouring out of the barracks, armed and ready for a fight.

She had to admire their readiness, if nothing else. She couldn't recall another opponent who'd had such a fast reaction time in the early morning. _They must have known that we were nearby, at least; even if they didn't expect the trick. _

“For the Emperor!” A voice shouted, and the Empire rushed to meet them.

Byleth immediately cast her eyes around for the ballistics as Constance's Bolting and Lysithea's Hades Omega fell from the heavens and crashed into the ground in two different directions. “Take the streets! Hold the corners! Reach our to our friends at the other gate!” She waved at Hannah who was flying close to her and called out, “Point me at one of the four priority targets!”

Hannah pointed her spear northeast of where she currently stood. Gesturing with her sword in acknowledgement, Byleth threw Aura at the Warrior running straight at her – knocking him flat on his back and burning him badly. Leaping over him, she brought the Creator's Sword down on a silver lance, snapping it in half before slamming her fist into the soldier's face, knocking him back a step. An arrow whipped over her shoulder and slammed into the man's arm, sending him to his knee; Byleth then planted her foot on said shoulder and used him as a platform to jump up onto another knight's horse. The woman cursed in disbelieving shock, twisting and trying to bring her sword up; instead, Byleth casually grabbed the back of the woman's leather and threw her off the horse single-handedly. The mount reared back, but she was prepared, backflipping and letting the momentum carry her back to the ground.

The two soldiers who'd been intending to meet her there were shot by Bernadetta and Leonie, who were racing side by side through the infantry, destroying their attempts to form defensive lines. Byleth straightened up and cast Aura again, this time aiming for the midst of a group of armored knights; the men were sent staggering apart, several tearing at melting portions of the metal that was meant to protect them. A barrage of fireballs from the back line of her own mages flew over her head and rained upon those men; Byleth flinched at the resulting screams and began to run again, making her way down one of the twisting roads of the fort with her students at her heels.

At a corner, there was a tortured scream that quickly morphed into the roar of a demonic beast. That was quickly followed by a blazing white light overhead that blasted down into from the sky and struck the monster – judging by its pained screech. Lysithea flew in a circle overhead, moving out of the way so Claude could take her place and firing a golden arrow to make good on the damage Seraphim would have done to the beast's magic protective barrier.

“Be careful for demonic beasts! Leonie, stick close to me, I'm going to break a ballista.”

“Got it, Captain,” Leonie called back.

Byleth almost turned to look for her father. Almost. But she caught herself at the last second and blinked a few times to refocus. “Help Lysithea and Claude with that demonic beast and its handlers!” She yelled back at the others as they reached the stone wall separating out one of the walled-off areas that lead into the barracks. A general sound of understanding hit her ears; trusting them to do the job, she turned sharply and ran across the road to its end where it connected to what might be the 'main concourse' in the middle of Fort Merceus.

The two raised platforms that the physical ballista rested upon were on each side of the main road. They were already crawling with archers by the time Byleth reached them; grimacing, she took a flying jump up onto the one closer to her while Leonie laid down covering fire for her. Two archers were hit in the throat and stomach by her arrows as Byleth landed in their midst; she swung the Creator's Sword, slashing one archer's arm to render her powerless and unleashing the blade's whip form on the other, slicing his throat and dropping him.

Kicking out the knee of a soldier and sending his sword spinning off the side of the platform, Byleth spun around and pointed her hand at the ballistic. “Ragnarok,” She whispered.

The massive blaze of fire burst from her fingers, slamming into the wooden structure and consuming it instantly, rendering it useless. Smiling faintly at her handiwork, Byleth turned around only to suddenly find herself face to face with a familiar figure.

“_**I have waited for you,**_” The Death Knight said. His one red eye blazed within his helmet; his scythe, fully repaired, was held loosely in one hand. “_**We have not finished our duel.**_”

Byleth gazed coolly back at him, then gestured sharply. Leonie let out a noise of protest, but after a second she nodded in acceptance and returned her attention to the other foot soldiers. “No,” Byleth said in a cold voice as her friend left the danger zone. “No, we did not.”

She knew without being able to see that the Death Knight was grinning beneath his helmet.

Then they met in a shower of sparks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Sothis, that chapter was *startlingly* easy to write. I know I've had Ideas about what happened in the Elite era and right before it, but geez! 
> 
> I have a few headcanons on why Macuil is more bitter toward humanity than Seteth. I might have dropped a hint of them in this chapter. (whistles innocently)


	59. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard broods on the current state of the world and is presented with a new weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I'm leaving you guys on a cliffhanger for a moment while we go check in with Edelgard. I think you'll forgive me when you see what's going on with her~ ...least, I hope so.

“_I care not that he has the pedigree for the rank, I care about whether or not he can do his **job**, which this pathetic display has convinced me he is too petty, short-sighted and weak-willed to possibly preform as needed,” She scowled at the noble brat in front of her, who attempted to sneer but quickly cowered under her gaze._

_She turned to find Ladislava still kneeling where she'd been knocked down, and made a point of examining the series of reports in her hand. “Ladislava...class representative, graduated with top honors, regularly praised for conduct and results. Why is someone so capable only holding the rank of Sargent?”_

“_My parents are merchants, my lady.” Ladislava said bluntly, and promptly flinched, bowing even deeper in apology. “A-Ah, forgive me, Your Majesty; I forgot myself...”_

“_All is forgiven. After for years being surrounded by simpering sycophants, I find your bluntness refreshing.” Edelgard tossed her hair over one shoulder. “Now stand up, General. We have work to do.”_

The missive was sitting on the table in front of her. Hannamen tried to take it away more than once, but Edelgard absently batted his hand away. She continued to review it, as if hoping that if she read it enough times, she could figure out where she'd gone wrong and what to do next.

Could Sothis's power be so intense now after transfiguring Byleth into her avatar that there was no way she could possibly gain the upper hand in a battle?

Her army had gone in with every advantage. They'd had a subverted Alliance Lord open the gates for them, they'd had total surprise, they'd had siege mages carried into the sky on mounts; she'd left nothing to chance. It was a perfect knockout blow; Claude could only have sway over Dimitri, and without him and Rodrigue Fraldarius the Kingdom be broken up into lords who could be swayed or dealt with in turn – and the Alliance would (_should have_) crumbled under a strong wind.

Yet Gloucester had bluntly rejected her overtures, to Hubert's complete disbelief. Almost spitting in the face of logic, neither Lord Fraldarius nor Dimitri were killed, the demonic beasts that had been deployed didn't even slow Byleth down, and Claude had rallied the combined armies into a counterattack that scored a victory with lower casualties than he had any right to under the circumstances. Ladislava was dead, Acheron was dead, and whoever hadn't fled or been killed had been captured.

It beggared belief, and yet Edelgard knew it was because of Sothis's gift to Byleth.

_Or was it just Sothis now? Had she merged with Byleth's body so completely that night in the Tomb that she took her place, sending her human soul onward to her personal afterlife while moving to prevent my removal of her beast's control over Fodlan? _

_She took away part of Byleth's precious humanity that night. Who's to say she won't take all of it if she deems it necessary?_

It wasn't something she'd voice. Never mind the threat of her people being swayed back to their old opium of choice should they realize that their precious goddess was walking the world; the already unsteady morale of her lords and generals would plummet if they were told that their opponent could turn back time until she turned the odds in her favor.

A warrior of the goddess, with the Blayddid King on her right and Lord Riegan on her left...

_I'm afraid there was no hope of us recovering her body or even her armor; the mad boy king took exception to her attack upon his foreign manservant and unleashed Areadbhar upon her. The sight was gruesome beyond words...what sort of monster is he to inflict that on a fellow human? _

Edelgard bit her lip, the hard rock in her stomach hard to ignore even as she reached for the ice that kept her strong and hardened her resolve.

The stunned silence that had fallen over the war table once the report had been read through the first time had said more than words could have hoped to about the effect this would have on Imperial morale.

Once again, her attempt to win a victory without leaning on Agartha had been crushed. She couldn't even claim a partial victory like she could after the Siege of Garreg Mach; this was a loss, pure and simple. _Forced to rely on them again...and Claude is pushing me too it. I must attempt a change of tactics to take them out now..._

Mercifully, they no longer had nothing to show for their efforts. The javelins of light had devastated the famed northern fortress, the Silver Maiden; in the last message sent by Caspar's father, whom she'd assigned to lead the attack against Faerghus, he'd reported they'd managed to secure a bulkhead within the cold north.

Even that news was tinged with trouble, however. It had quickly become apparent that Holst Goneril (_Hilda's older brother, likely a close ally of Claude who would require no arm-twisting to go along with his plans, why hadn't she thought about taking the pink-haired girl hostage? Extra pressure on the Alliance would have encouraged it to fracture and fall apart, even with Claude's bizarre charisma to maintain order-_) had traveled to Faerghus alongside a few contingents of Edmund troops and his own men to provide assistance to the kingdom. Her two-pronged attack had been anticipated; a combined Faerghus and Alliance army had repelled Lord Bergliz in a few engagements.

That proof that they were committed to the alliance between their nations would endear the Kingdom to the neighbors they were once antagonistic to. Which presented her more problems than it would otherwise...they would be much less likely to break, and self-serving nobles less likely to bow to her, than if they had been separated as they'd been mere months ago.

It was frustrating.

“They'll hit Fort Merceus next. It's the only logical target if they intend to strike at Enbarr,” she said, cutting through the low and panicky dialogue between the lower lords who had replaced the treacherous seven as a makeshift council.

Lady Varley scowled at this, though she didn't speak. She'd demanded the guaranteed safety of her daughter in exchange for the resources of her house, which Edelgard hadn't thought anything of granting at the time. Yet Bernadetta – timid, frightened, meek Bernadetta – had not only defied orders to return home, but by all accounts was fighting on the front lines of the 'Holy Allies'.

_She was always clinging to Byleth, absorbing the strength that she exuded without even trying. If we manage to slay the professor with a javelin of light, she'd undoubtedly be in the blast radius...should Lady Varley realize the missiles are no natural phenomenon or accident of fate, but my and my uncle's machinations, she would undoubtedly withdraw her support and uproot all of Varley's territory to spite me for it. _

_As if I needed another reason to keep those blasted weapons a closely guarded secret._

She needed the missiles to take out Byleth, or at least incapacitate her should she use the goddess's power to block them.

She preferred incapacitate, hoped that the massive, terrifying power that the unlocked Sword of the Creator had revealed during the Siege of Garreg Mach would save Byleth from death itself. She would much rather bring Byleth to Enbarr; perhaps the Agarthans could do one good deed and through some magic surgery remove what connected her to Sothis, make her _human _again. It was plain from Captain Jeralt's open mistrust of Rhea (_oh, how it burned that Kronya had murdered the man and with it any hopes of swaying Byleth to her side!_) that he believed she'd done something to his daughter. Likely some experiment when she was a child after Sitri's death to make her a suitable host for Sothis.

The beast wouldn't have cared about one solitary human life, when she already ruined thousands by forcing Crest worship upon humanity.

_And I need that missile to hit Claude, too. _

Edelgard frowned at the report again. She was _fighting _to reconcile the blasé, frivolous, never-serious boy with the strategist described in the reports.

It wasn't the storied nobles who reformed the army in their frantic scrambling to respond to the ambush; it was a _boy _hastily named lord at the last minute in the face of his grandfather's advance age and sickness. He'd bought time for people to arm themselves, moving units forward and backward in cycles until everyone was prepared, used hit and run tactics as well as clever use of his family relic's unique power to buy time until the lines were formed and a unified front could press forward to reclaim the bridge.

Perhaps even moreso than Dimitri, Claude clearly had to be made a priority target – not for who's son he was, but what he was clearly capable of. She'd ordered Hubert to send messages throughout the troops to make that clear.

Not that she could neglect Dimitri, as Ladislava's death had proven painfully clear. But it was obvious that he was the weak link among the leaders; half mad (_his laughter in the chamber, manic behavior in battle, and absurd fixation on the idea that she had somehow 'betrayed' him made **that **clear_) and likely reliant on Claude for strategy and Byleth to keep himself alive in battle. He was a destructive monster to fight, however. Anyone who wielded Areadbhar was.

“Your Majesty, who will replace General Ladislava on the eastern front?” Lord Herving asked in a tone that suggested he'd tried to get her attention once already.

Edelgard waved dismissively at him. “I have narrowed down the list of candidates to a handful of the best of the best. I'll have another leader out in the field by tomorrow evening, never you fear.”

_...Meaning I've narrowed it down to people I can halfway trust, _she thought sourly. _Hubert could take command, yes, he's prepared all his life for such tasks; but I am loathe to send him out without a more experienced commander to provide him backup. And I'm dangerously close to having to let Lord Varley out of house arrest to lead the charge, or I'll end up with too many Agarthans in powerful positions!_

Edelgard loathed Count Maximus Varley with a passion; even in small matters, the man had no concept of collateral damage. Blood, slaughter and ruin would follow him should he be put at the head of an army against foes who were encroaching on what he considered 'his land'. However the man was competent, infuriatingly enough, and he'd been pleading for his release by swearing up and down that he would be loyal to her and recognized her as the sole autocrat and power over Adrestia.

_It will be a black day if I have to take him up on that, _she thought bitterly.

Fortunately, she still had a few options before she had to stoop to that. For now.

'For now'. The fact loomed over her, causing a burning resentment to linger in her stomach. Had things proceeded as planned, if Gloucester hadn't miraculously found his spine and/or some sense of loyalty that he'd been missing _all his life before this moment_, if Byleth had been captured in the Holy Tomb, or if that stupid bandit had managed to do the one thing his kind was capable of and killed Claude and Dimitri, the Empire would have indirect control over _swaths_ of the Alliance and Kingdom without all this bloodshed and loss of Imperial lives.

Her army wouldn't be in disarray and she wouldn't deal with so many would-be allies glancing nervously at her whenever she proposed the next leg of their plan. She wouldn't have needed those _damned missiles _to score her first real victory.

“They'll be turned back at Fort Merceus. The Stubborn Old General has never been taken since its construction,” One new army man who's name she couldn't remember said confidently.

“They're armed with more relics than any one army has amassed since the church ensured Loog could succeed from Adrestia, including the Sword of the Creator.” Edelgard said dryly. “After Garreg Mach, I'm not willing to put anything in the hands of fate.”

“If they somehow breach Merceus, they can march across the countryside,” Lady Varley said incredulously. “They could travel in any direction and do untold damage to our infrastructure before we can move to confront them!”

“We must call back some of the troops that went with Lord Bergliez to reinforce the home front. It's the best way to ensure the safety of our people!”

“Calling back any part of the army, no matter how small, will undercut any attempt made to recapture and _hold _lands in Faerghus,” Edelgard retorted, resisting the urge to rub her temples in annoyance. She was one more meeting away from dismissing her council completely and running the war with only Hubert and Hannaman for advisers.

They were the only one giving her useful advice. The rest were busy wringing their hands about the _cost _of this war and how it might outstrip the gains they would make in the reunification.

Edelgard resisted the urge to curse at them. _Nothing _was too much to take Fodlan back from the beast and her worshipers. _No price _was too high to free the people imprisoned by the systems of Lords and Crests. If only the deep and loving loyalty of her army extended to the lords; then at least she'd have useful allies that weren't megalomaniac monsters like the Agarthans.

“Your Majesty,” a harsh, icy voice cut through the pointless chatter.

Edelgard stood up and turned, giving Myson an icy look. She might tolerate him the most out of his ilk – he was a legitimate strategist and was much less inclined to treat her like a particularly intelligent horse than his fellows – but that didn't mean he had leave to interrupt her unless it was very important. “If you do not have news, I would like to know what you think you're doing, alchemist,” she said dryly.

“Your Lord Uncle says that you spoke of a substitute for a military matter that you were opposed to,” Myson said evenly, not even pretending to be either intimidated by or respectful to her implicit anger. He didn't acknowledge the council, which was muttering angrily at his brazen interruption. “He sent me with the substitute that he believes will meet your needs. Might I present them to you now, since progress has yet to be made by your council?”

_I would chastise you...but you're right. Just don't mistake this tolerance of you for a level of actual fondness. _“It seems I do, in fact, have a few minutes to spare,” She said scathingly, glaring at the table. Everyone there winced or looked down in a mixture of shame and anger. Hubert gave her a worried look and stood up to join her. “Show me.”

Myson nodded, turning on his heels and leaving the room. Edelgard followed after him with Hubert at her heels, giving a glare over her shoulder that served as a wordless warning that there had _better _be some sort of plan by the time she returned.

_Caspar's father is the only one who truly makes himself indefensible. The rest are typical nobles, weak willed and indecisive as soon as the tides seem threatening. _

They took a winding pathway down into the basement. Edelgard soon found herself frowning as she slowly realized where Myson was leading her. There was a chamber prepared there, meant to hold Rhea as insurance against Agartha and to supply more blood to create stronger demonic beasts.

“What manner of substitute are we speaking of?” Hubert asked in his usual cold, haughty tone. If he was uneasy, he refused to show it.

“It is better that I show you. Walls have ears, after all,” Myson responded. His words were even as ever, lacking the condescension that Arundel so often showed her.

Edelgard frowned. “Has your new alchemist created a new form of demonic beast? I'd been told that more research was required...”

“No, it is not a demonic beast.” They reached the hallway that lead to the massive double doors that would have been Rhea's prison. “They are something far more precious, and far less expendable than the beasts. As a matter of fact, it took much convincing on my part for them to be brought here; your Lord Uncle believed the situation was not dire enough to bring them out.”

“Not dire enough?” Edelgard scoffed. “He wants to hide a powerful weapon until our doors are being-?”

She wasn't able to finish her sentence. A scream interrupted her, followed by a sickening _crunch _that could only be human bones being pulverized by intense force. Myson swore in the harsh language of his people and ran forward, having the nerve to order her to stay put before hammering on the door and raising a strange square above his head. There was a red jewel in it, which he hit hard with two fingers. The racket that had been ringing from within the chamber ceased, except for a muted thud and a terrified, indistinct babbling from a number of people within.

Hubert grabbed her arm when she took a few steps forward to investigate; worry lay behind the alarm in his expression as he stared at the door.

“I apologize for that,” Myson said. He actually sounded a little concerned, which rather undermined his meant-to-be-soothing tone because that man _never _showed emotion. “These particular weapons can be...volatile. We're still trying to discern why.”

“Is this _safe_?” Hubert demanded.

“Completely. I have the means to control them in my hand,” Myson responded reassuringly. “Please, do come in. I assure your safety, your Majesty.”

Edelgard watched the door uneasily for a moment, wondering what could have caused such an impact if not a demonic beast. But she shook her head after a moment, shaking off Hubert's iron grip and striding forward. _A substitute for those damned missiles is too valuable to be ignored. _

Myson opened the doors and strode inside, stepping to the side so Edelgard could see what had been brought to her.

For a moment, she wasn't sure exactly what was being presented. Then the two beings _stood_, fully illuminating themselves in the low light, and her heart attempted to evacuate her body via her throat.

From a distance, you might confuse them for two normal human beings – one rather tall, six feet at least and clearly male, while the other was petite and female judging by her hips. But once you stepped closer enough to _look _at them...the only word that came to mind was _wrong_.

Their skin was pale, translucent and _dead. _She knew it was dead; only flesh that was close to rotting looked like that, yet the skin was also pale, smooth and unblemished except for varying scars. Their veins were not blue-violet, but a reddish-gold; they stood unnaturally still, seemingly not even breathing – were they even breathing? She wasn't sure she could see; their hair was bleached of color, their eyes glowing a malevolent red that reminded her of the beasts monster form. They looked human; they had to be human, yet they were so _wrong wrong wrong _she felt something almost like a scream building up in her throat the longer she looked at them. So she glanced aside, and saw an Agarthan body slumped against the floor, their head thoroughly pulped with blood and gore splattering the wall and floor. Blood dripped off the tall man's (_man? Man? Could she call this thing a man?_) hand, and _only _his hand. As if he'd used that one hand to kill that person...

She'd seen one person preform such feats of strength. Just one. It ran in _one _human family. Slowly her eyes trailed to his back.

A massive spear was strapped across the – the _thing_'s back. It glowed a soft gold, and it was bent in the opposite direction of the familiar relic. Disbelief ran underneath the _wrong wrong WRONG _consuming her mind as she stared at him, slowly transferring her gaze to the woman. She held in her hand a much more elegant black lance, the design of which she'd seen before from reports Hubert had stolen for her – the Arrow of Indra.

The two beings _glared _at her; the male one with hatred, the female one with contempt.

“W-What is this?” She demanded. For the first time since her siblings had died, her voice shook. “What are they?”

“They are the first true Transhumans.” Myson said approvingly. “They were the next step towards humanity's ascension; they've been...preserved, for some time, to be kept safe. That's why they look a little unnerving at first glance. Look at them...our greatest successes, our treasured ubermench. Magnificent, aren't they?”

She couldn't speak. Hubert said nothing, even though he was the first with a witty retort to Agarthan pretensions of grandeur; he too, was struck dumb by the sight.

Another Areadbhar. Impossibly, impossibly, a duplicate of the Blayddid relic. As she stared at the being's face (_wrongwrongwrongwrongWRONG!_) she started to see a familiar facial shape in that sickly, _dead _skin and those blazing inhuman eyes. _No, no that's impossible, it can't be, it can't, that makes no **sense**, I'm looking for something familiar in something so **wrong, **_she told herself firmly.

“They are worth more than entire battalion on the battlefield,” Myson went on, a smile on his face. “Even the beast knew well to fear them-”

He was cut off mid sentence; almost faster than the eye could see, the tall man _**moved**_; Myson let out an audibly panicked cursed, leaping backwards and hitting the ruby on the box again. The male being staggered, a gurgling noise deep in his throat, pausing with his hands mere inches from his throat.

“-though I think that the long sleep they endured has left them disoriented and confused. Being resettled into the living world ought to make them settle down,” Myson finished a little awkwardly.

“_**...yYooOuU...**_”

Edelgard was siezed with a shudder so bad her knees almost buckled. The female being had spoken; rather than attempt to attack Myson like her companion, she'd walked forward a few steps and fixed her unerring gaze on her. Then she'd spoken...

Spoken. Her voice was hideously distorted; human-yet-not-human in a way almost indistinguishable from Rhea. The being had stared at her for a moment; she had searched for something within her, and hadn't found it...or perhaps she had? She let out a crackling, twisted noise that Edelgard slowly realized was mocking laughter.

“_**...yYoOooUu...lItTle...fFooLlL.” **_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the only response the brain can muster when presented with something that should, by all sight and smell and sound, be dead, only to clearly be alive somehow, is 'what the actual fuck am I looking at?' We've all yelled at that one character in zombie movies who does that, but really, imagine looking at a zombie - seeing a corpse get up and move. Wouldn't you stand frozen for a minute and gape?
> 
> Apparently some people don't think Nemesis got enough forshadowing. Well, I guess some of his friends ought to make an early appearance then, huh?


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri leads and fights as a king during the fight for Fort Merceus.

“Go forth! And fear no darkness!”

Dimitri did worry sometimes that he wasn't as charismatic as Claude. He knew that he was young and that his troubles lay underneath his voice, tangible if you knew to look for them; one of his current fears was that he wasn't strong enough to present a figure worth following.

But at the earthshaking cheers that filled the world around him as his army surged forward, blowing through the gates that Dorothea had opened for them, fought hard to put that fear to rest. He just barely saw Falrie of Jeralt's Mercenaries sweep the young songstress up onto the back of her horse before he was within the enemy's walls.

His friends surged around him in formation at the front, even as he rushed from the front line into the winding open halls and platforms of Fort Merceus. His heart keened at that gesture of trust, at how Felix was at his left side keeping pace in spite of everything he'd ever said to his old friend, at how Sylvain and Ingrid were moving ahead and taking the position of his honor guards... Dedue was right behind him as they smashed into the first line of Empire soldiers that had scrambled from their beds to oppose them.

Surprise had been total. The united army poured in unopposed through both entrances; most of them had made it in before the warning horns began to blow in earnest. Panicked shouting and cursing came from every direction.

“Annette, get up on that ballistic; use it at your discretion! Men, protect your battalion leader!” Dimitri ordered; Annette being on foot was more of a risk inside the walls of Fort Merceus due to the twin risks of being trampled in the chaos and fighting within the ranks of the cavalry rather than from the semi-safer position of behind them while they charged ahead.

“Got it! Mercie, come up with me, you'll be better able to see who needs healing with the looking glass!” The orange-haired mage urged even as she kicked the wall and climbed up onto the raised surface. A mage emerged from a trap door beneath it, but Annette didn't give him a chance to take in the situation – she threw a hand ax at his head, hitting him between the eyes and dropping him back down the ladder.

“Of course,” The blonde gasped, her expression brightening at the easy means to stay on top of the army's injuries. Being one of a handful of mages capable of casting Fortify while also possessing the Lamine Crest, her being able to see and reach everyone she could was crucial.

She hesitated for a second, however, in order to snag Dedue's arm and catch up with him long enough to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Be careful,” She pleaded quickly, staring soulfully into his wide eyes for a second that must have seemed like an eternity to her; then she darted off to Gilbert, who helped her up to join Annette who was dropping bricks and broken stone on top of the trap door to keep it from being opened again.

Dimitri couldn't help but chuckle, sending a warrior flying with one well-placed kick and pausing in order to pat his stunned retainer on the shoulder. “My friend, I do believe you've just been ordered to live,” he said kindly.

_Please don't leave me, _Claude's trembling voice echoed in his head. He would never forget the look in those green eyes; seeing it reflected in Mercedes's kind face felt like a jolt directly along his spine.

Dedue swallowed, even as he turned and blocked an ax on his gauntlets. “I understand,” He said shakily. Dimitri stabbed his opponent with his silver lance, causing him to drop his weapon; Dedue surged forward and preformed a one-two punch that dented the man's chest armor, dropping him to the ground.

“Is this really the time for that?” Felix griped, before twisting his wrist and taking a stance Dimitri had only seen Catherine use in practice before.

Before his amazed eyes, in a blur of motion accented by the blazing light of his crest, Felix preformed Astra – the ultimate technique of the swordmaster as taught by Garreg Mach, the move that he'd spent the entire school year griping about not being able to perfect (_Glenn had first used it at fifteen. That was what had convinced father to knight him so young-_) – flawlessly. Letting his momentum carry him, the blue-haired boy not only obliterated the armored knight standing in front of him but also diced apart the Hero standing behind him.

“Says the man who'd rather fight a horde of demonic beasts than tell Bernadetta he's sweet on her!” Sylvain fired at him as his horse rode past the swordmaster, silver lance lashing out and stabbing a mage mid-cast of Death.

“S-Shut up!” Felix snapped, his face rapidly turning crimson.

Glenn laughed, unleashing Astra on the mounted knight, cutting through the saddle, leg, and blade in the blink of an eye. “You should think of it as a challenge, Felix!” He said, in the cheerfully annoying way he'd often used when teasing any of them years ago. “Are you saying that mastering Astra is harder than being honest?”

“Like I need to hear that from you; you needed me to lock you in the greenhouse before you were able to tell Ingrid that you wanted to marry her out of love, not because it was arranged!” Felix raged as he blocked the blade of an enemy sword master who'd appeared from around a blind corner. The ballista Annette was now manning behind them roared to life, throwing an orb of blazing fire over their heads to land somewhere deeper in the fortress.

“If I were you, I wouldn't be offering any ideas right now!” Glenn responded, blushing lightly at the reminder. Then he swore, darted forward about a yard and slashed a sniper's bow in half; seconds later, Ingrid swooped down and slammed the flat of Luin's blade into the face of a bishop, knocking him out of the fight.

“That's not funny, damn it!” Felix yelled, whirling around after slicing the swordmaster's dominant arm and slamming the hit of his sword into his face. “Sylvain, if you scare her off with your stupid antics, I swear by the blazing flames-”

A wave of fire blew past Sylvain, taking out a mage who had been mid-cast of Dark Spikes. Atra appeared from the general blur of the united army and smacked the horse's hip, causing her to jump forward and miss the fatal blast of black magic. “Whoa!” Sylvain gasped, then let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks for the save, Atra; you're beautiful when you're charging in like an avenging angel!”

Atra responded the same way she always did when Sylvain tried his flirting with her; a strangled noise that was halfway between confusion and incredulity. “You're welcome,” was all she managed to say in response.

Dimitri chuckled and remarked, “you might want to say something before he has the chance to screw it up for you, you know,” he dared to tease his old friend for the first time in...he wasn't sure how long.

“Like you did?” Felix asked dryly.

“What?” Dedue blinked twice after beating a sniper that had been trying to shoot down Annette into submission. “What do you mean?”

“Sylvain...” Dimitri said in a loud, warning voice.

“Hey, you just said not to tell Rodrigue!” The redhead protested.

“You bloody well know I didn't mean just him!”

“He hasn't told anyone other than Felix and Glenn,” Ingrid promised as they ran forward, deeper into the roads of Fort Merceus. There were a number of areas through which reinforcements could come through; doors to secret passageways beneath the ground, stairwells to the upper walls, the works. They would have to take them one by one to ensure that they had full control over the fortress. “I made sure of it.”

“Wait, so that wasn't a _joke_?!” Felix sputtered, nearly missing another swordmaster taking a swing at him. Atra darted between them, caught the blade on one of her swords and swung the flame blade at the man's chest, igniting his robes. Cursing, Felix spun and kicked the man in the gut to make him drop his sword; the man dropped and tried to put out the flames by rolling.

“As if Dimitri would joke about being in love,” Glenn retorted, the bemusement on his face much more muted than it would have been if he'd had all his memories...yet it was familiar nonetheless. “It's everything else I'm still trying to get my head around.”

“You're all demoted,” Dimitri informed them mock-seriously as he took point against a wall; a reinforcement point had been indicated beyond it. “Archers?”

“Two within, one up on the wall. Give me a moment,” Atra said determinedly. She darted around the wall straight out into the open; Dimitri choked and tried to snag her arm, just barely missing her. The painful mix of emotions that he usually felt around her was replaced entirely by shock and alarm; what was she _thinking_-?

A number of arrows whipped past him out of the wall; seconds later, a wave of fire from her sword was visible – aimed _upward_, not forward; he tracked its progress up the wall to expertly strike the upper battlements, catching the flag and wooden railings forcing the sniper posted there to flee. “Ingrid!” Atra called from within, followed seconds later by a pained yelp.

Ingrid flew down in a dive bomb, a sickening _crunch _signaled her victory. Dimitri swung around into the spacious 'room' proper; Atra had an arrow pierced through her shoulder, yet she was still moving, her flame sword slashing through the bow of the last archer before she retreated several steps from the approaching knights. Urged forward by an odd swell of emotion, Dimitri shot forward, grabbed a discarded javelin off the ground and threw it; the weapon slammed through the visor of the lead knight, killing him and causing him to crumble, tripping up his fellows. The warm light of Lamine flared in a ball of light above Atra's head; Glenn paused at her side long enough to pull the arrow out. Then he charged the three armored knights, Astra flaring to life along with his minor crest that helped him slice through the armor and render the three enemies bleeding and powerless.

Dimitri moved past her for the moment, stopping a charging mounted knight by reaching out and snagging the reins. The horse skidded to a stop, allowing Dimitri to grab its rider and yank him off his mount, causing him to crash to the ground. Letting go of the reins, Dimitri subdued the man with one well-placed kick to the face as Ingrid threw a javelin at the upper battlements to deal with a straggler while Sylvain had reached the entrance with part of an allied armored battalion, seizing it and demanding the surrender of the knights still inside the tunnel.

The ear-splitting crash of Bolting struck down again, followed by another blast from Annette's ballista, as Dimitri made his way back to Atra. She was adjusting her coat, with nothing but the way she was biting her lip and the bloodstains to indicate the pain she was still feeling. “Atra,” He started, and then stopped.

She froze up and stared back at him, eyes wide and uncertain. Dimitri fumbled for words, wondering what exactly he wanted to say. Thank you? Why? Do you want to die? “Be more careful,” was what he found himself saying after a moment, calm and even a little beseeching. “You-” _are in the center of a storm in my heart, I feel like I can't forgive you yet the thought of doing so still lingers on my mind when I hear you speaking- _“can't die here.”

The renegade Agarthan nodded dumbly in response; her lips parted, but she didn't say anything except a confused “as you wish.”

“Form up! Secure the point and prepare to move again!” Dimitri yelled after giving his head a quick shake to clear it. The Red was mercifully at a fairly low ebb; somehow, the screaming wasn't getting to him, the enemies weren't fighting to the death nearly so much as they had been on the Bridge, and...somehow, his head just felt clear.

Annoyance with Sylvain babbling to Glenn and Felix about his loves was surprisingly prominent among the storm of feelings he was experiencing.

As he lead his friends and warriors out of the area they had secured, Dimitri spared a few seconds to look up at the sky, scanning for Ivory. She was harder to spot in the morning light compared to a storm; Maea (_and thus Lysithea_) was plainly visible, along with the other pegasi and wyverns who made up their areal forces... thankfully for his nerves, a golden arrow flew down from the heavens and hit the grounds directly across from him. _Claude was moving and in no danger, if all the ballista have been seized. _He couldn't see Byleth, but he knew he would simply have to keep faith in her. She was the one who'd taught them how to be warriors, and Sothis was watching over her.

Yet still his heart twisted anxiously when he couldn't see them within this chaos. _Perhaps in the next battle we'll lead the army side by side... _

The army cheered and moved around him as he charged forward again, narrowly dodging a Miasma spell cast at his head. “Where's the next?” He shouted into the air, hoping someone would answer him (_and know what he was referring to, it must be said..._)

“Directly ahead of you, your majesty!” Rodrigue said, his hand raised in mid-cast of Fortify. Dimitri felt the bruises and cuts he'd acquired melt away in a wave of warmth and smiled gratefully. “The Empire is massing in the middle around the Death Knight, who is in combat with Lady Eisner. We'll block them off, secure the rest of the fortress!”

“The Death Knight?!” He snapped, feeling his stomach lurch.

Rodrigue nodded, glancing off to the side. “He's insisted on single combat, it seems. No one else is attempting to interfere; the rest are preoccupied.”

Dimitri slowed for a moment, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Trust the professor, your majesty,” Dedue urged him. There was a look in his friend's eyes, which kept flickering back the way they came, that made it clear he understood what he was feeling.

The young king tightened his grip on the silver lance; Areadbhar felt heavy on his shoulder. He fought with the urge to take his relic in hand and rush to Byleth's side; he had to preform his part of the plan. “I know,” He acknowledged.

Yet it still terrified him to keep moving, leading his part of the army forward into the far side of Fort Merceus, leaving his beloved to fight the most dangerous knight Edelgard had to offer. _Be careful, Byleth. _

An arrow hit him in the shoulder when he approached the eastern wall, causing him to spit a bit of blood and curse vehemently as he ducked behind some cover. “Can we signal Constance somehow?” He asked, twisting to look at the injury.

A familiar figure melted out of the air, placing a hand around the arrow. “I can. In fact, I can tell her to target the wall without needing her to land and talk to us first,” Yuri assured him, his hands glowing with healing magic. “Now I don't have the blood of Lamine or Cethleann, so this is going to sting quite a bit. Do you need-?”

“No; the healing magic numbs it enough for me.” Dimitri said. He gritted his teeth as the violet-eyed young man removed the arrow; his vision went gray for a brief moment before the pain was eased away by Recover. “Please signal her, or else we won't get past those archers.”

“Done,” Yuri said airily, stepping back and taking a pocket watch out of his coat. Nonchalantly he pointed his now-free hand off to the side; Aura flew across a short distance and smashed into an armored knight that had been trying to reach them.

Across the field, Ingrid had landed and was patting her pegasus's neck as Glenn carefully freed the arrow that had struck it near its left wing joint. Atra was standing guard along with Felix, who kept glancing across the field. _Looking for Bernadetta, probably. They had been fighting side by side in the last few engagements, hadn't they? _Knowing that Annette and Mercedes were further back, in the area controlled by their people, eased his mind; Dedue and Felix were hiding under cover on the other side of the entrance to the reinforcement area. The rest of the knights and men were scattered all about, healing, taking prisoners, or mirroring his friends in taking positions.

“You might want to back away a few feet,” Yuri warned, startling him from his thoughts. His violet-eyed friend gave him a half smile. “There's bound to be a bit of a small avalanche in a moment.”

Dimitri blinked twice before his eyes widened in comprehension and he jumped back from the wall just seconds before Bolting slammed into the ramparts above the reinforcement mustering point. Some awful screaming echoed from that area, and sure enough brick and stone rained down from where the damage had been done. Once the sound of falling stopped, Dimitri stole a glance around the wall and saw that the snipers that had been up on the ramparts with the sun behind them were gone, either fled or fallen. “Onward!” He ordered, charging into the area.

Within were mostly armored knights and war masters – oh, how Dimitri did _not _like fighting war masters. They were faster than they had any right to be, their first blow paralyzed their victim for a flurry of follow-ups, and despite their comparative lack of armor they were stupidly resilient. All traits he admired in Dedue, Balthus and Raphael, but did not care to see in so many faceless enemies.

He did respect their determination, however. Those who were fighting to protect the homes they feared they would loose otherwise. He understood that fear well, after all.

_Stepmother once said that every battle is a loss. Perhaps it's a mercy she didn't live long enough to see what her daughter would start. _

He hated thinking like that.

The morale of the enemy had broken; that much was clear. To Dimitri's shock, when the soldiers in the area saw him approaching, they all dropped their weapons and fell to their knees in front of him. “Mercy, King Blayddid,” One of them said; she sounded like a young woman. “If not for me, for my sister's children who I now raise. They say you're kind, that you're gentle...please, mercy...”

Her voice seemed to break a dam, others raised similar pleas, causing Dimitri to slowly lower his lance as the litany of voices drew him to the realization that few of these soldiers were high ranked. No...it was possible that the highest-ranked person in this fort was the Death Knight. No, these were the children of merchants and villager sons and daughters who had managed to snare admission into a military academy. For them to be openly surrendering like this...they must have had reservations about their Emperor starting a war, but weren't able to go without their paycheck.

“I grant you mercy,” Dimitri heard himself say the words more than anything else; his thoughts were strangely tangled. He gestured to one of the Gautier men who's name he didn't remember off-hand, but he knew to be a good man. “Lead them all outside, so they don't risk being caught in cross fire or retaliation. Secure the area.”

The empire soldiers let out a ragged, almost singular cry of relief, many reaching out to touch his boots. Embarrassed by such a strong reaction to a basic display of compassion, Dimitri helped the woman who had first spoken stand up as the Gautier men circled them and lead them out toward the closest exit from the fortress.

“Taken care of,” Sylvain informed him as the area was secured. Dimitri breathed out a sigh of relief and spun on his heels. “Y'know, she's probably got the death knight all sown up by now.”

“I'll be at ease when I see that with my own eyes,” Dimitri responded. Sylvain rolled his eyes good-naturedly, hiding his own concern for their professor.

Atra rolled her shoulder back and looked around with a strange expression on her face. “What's the matter, mourning dove?” Yuri asked, teasingly using Hapi's nickname. The black-haired girl jumped and went quite red at the face, fidgeting under his attention. “You look oddly ill at ease, considering we just got an objective handed to us without a fight.”

“Oh...I don't know what to say.” Atra bit her lip. “I didn't see any Agarthans here...that seems very strange to me, since we know they're working closely with the Emperor. There weren't even any demonic beasts. Even though we had the element of surprise, it just feels...strange?”

“...That's true,” Dedue said uneasily. “Did anyone else see them?”

Felix scowled, clearly thinking furiously. “Glenn?” He asked through his teeth. His tone wasn't encouraging.

Glenn's eyes narrowed. “No, I don't remember seeing any either. I doubt there's much love between Agartha and the Emperor, for both want to rule the world...maybe she wanted this place to be loyal solely to her...?”

“It's possible,” Dimitri acknowledged through his teeth as he started to leave the area, “Though I'm not sure-”

“_**Get out**_!”

The voice, amplified by a theater trick that Dorothea had shown off a few times during their year studying, cracked over their conversation. Dimitri's head jerked up at Lysithea's panicky voice; even though she was the youngest, she _never _willingly showed fear, even maintaining a cold stoicism until after the end of the siege. Only in private did she allow herself to break down.

For her to sound _completely terrified_? As far as he was concerned, no detailed explanation was needing.

“_**Orders from Her Grace Lady Eisner – get out of Fort Merceus now! Head for the hills beyond the treeline! Now, without delay!**_”

“Just abandon the fort?” Sylvain blurted out. “But we've almost-”

“Do what she says, Sylvain!” Dimitri barked. His friend jolted but didn't argue; Dimitri grabbed his offered hand and was hauled up onto the mare's back. They bolted through the streets, Dimitri repeating the order bluntly and repeatedly while his friends scrambled to keep up. At first his commanders resisted, protesting that the fort was nearly won, but repeated commands managed to get through their heads and they fled for the exit.

Dimitri looked about and caught sight of a white wyvern flying overhead. A bit of relief hit his chest as Ivory descended enough for him to see both Claude and Byleth safe on her back. “Don't wait, Dimitri!” Byleth shouted. “We'll make sure everyone gets out, just go, don't wait! Hurry!”

_She _sounded scared, too. Dimitri felt his heart drop into his stomach; what was happening?! “Be careful!” He called back up to them as Sylvain urged his horse to move just a little faster.

The blue, gold and white streams leading out to the hills were striking against the green landscape. Everyone had exited on the opposite side of the fort from which they'd entered, which while peppered with trees was largely a series of hilly grass fields; it gave them plenty of room to spread out and make room for each other.

Something glittered in the sky; Dimitri almost dismissed it, distracted as he was. However, something about it nagged at his memory, and he heard Atra gasp.

Anything that startled her was not a good sign.

Lifting his head and looking up to the sky, Dimitri saw a golden-white streak blaze through the cloudless sky; it was a slender shape, moving like an arrow fired from a bow with its swiftness. It passed over their heads, over the pegasi and wyverns as they left over the walls of the fort, but started to – to descend. To come closer and closer to the ground until it fell within the fort -

* * *

He'd never heard anything like the noise that hit his ears then. The closest – indeed, only – comparison that jumped to mind was an avalanche; he'd seen a few of those in his childhood, though only from a distance. The impact was similar, too – he felt the ground shake underneath their feet; Sylvain's horse (and indeed all the mounts around him!) stamped in place and neighed in alarm.

The impact was followed by a massive burst of fire. Dimitri had seen paintings of the Valley of Torment, where jets of flame hotter than anything else in the living world occasionally burst from the earth consuming all that was nearby. A dome of flame rose from within the walls; a wave of heat rolled through the air, washing over him even from the distance they stood at.

Then he saw another flicker in the sky; Dimitri choked briefly before shouting “Keep moving! Run to the far hill!” This time, his army needed no extra encouragement. Neither did Byleth's half of their forces, which were already on the move, going forward and to the right in order to merge up with them on the horizon.

Sylvain kicked his mount into a gallop, rapid-fire spitting a series of Sreng words without pausing for breath. Another impact slammed into the earth, shaking it badly; Dimitri looked over his shoulder and watched as another impact _shattered _the massive stone wall that had held back innumerable assaults over nine hundred years in a single blow. Fire burst up again in massive balls; it was orange and red and purple, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. His eyes stung from looking, but he couldn't help himself. He was frozen.

Another missile hit. Another wall crumbled from the impact, stone spraying _outward _as if shoved by a massive force. The final one struck in the midst of that, the flames turning white, and finally Dimitri shut his eyes against the force that, even as he was carried away, he could still feel the heat and pressure as if it was chasing them, malevolently nipping at their heels.

It was like seeing the breaking of the world.

_The Agarthans destroyed the world once before, _Sothis's words rang in his head. _I do not know if I can restore it in my current situation. _

* * *

When the army united on the hill, Dimitri found himself standing with Atra, Claude, Byleth, Rodrigue, Judith and the empire soldiers who had surrendered to him staring at the smoking ruins that had once been Fort Merceus.

There was simply nothing left. Not even foundations; only a massive crater where the 'Stubborn Old General' had stood. Smoke billowed out of it...small fires burned her and there, but not by much. Dimitri let out a slow breath, staring at the impossible and terrifying sight before them.

“Atra?” Rodrigue asked, his voice shaking. Dimitri hadn't heard him sound so shaken since the day he'd returned from Duscur four years ago.

The young renegade had both hands over her mouth, wide-eyed, staring at the remains. “S_ie koennen nicht...Wie haben sie noch..._?” She stammered out, seemingly not even realizing she'd slipped out of Modern Common.

“You recognize that?” Judith asked; _her _voice was steady, but the sheer paleness in her face spoke volumes. “You didn't mention it before!”

“Thales said they didn't have them anymore!” Atra burst out, fear and horror in equal measure dripping from her voice. “He said we abandoned the use of them against fellow humans, and used what few that remained against the Fell Star before the Cataclysm! Thales...he and his men...!” Her voice was growing both weaker and higher, a harsh panicky edge entering her voice. “They said...they were abandoned for being too damaging to the world... I know he lies, I know he always lied but I thought he wanted to _rule, _I thought he wanted a world he could _live in-!_”

Her words broke off into a choked off sound that Dimitri recalled making himself when his emotions grew too powerful to suppress. Byleth slid off of Ivory's back and grabbed Atra's shoulders, turning her around and giving her a gentle-but-firm shake. _Looking after another person always took priority for her. _“Breathe,” She said firmly. “I had a premonition this would happen and we have escaped. _Breathe, _Atra. Do not panic.”

“They...she would have killed us...” That voice belonged to the woman who'd spoken to Dimitri not long ago. The empire soldier slowly wrapped her arms around herself, staring – as all her fellows were – at the ruins they had been charged to protect.

“I beg your pardon?” Claude asked, his voice wound so tightly Dimitri almost didn't recognize it for a second.

“We weren't sent word,” The young woman whispered. She was so terrified, so full of disbelief, that Dimitri didn't doubt her for a second. “The Emperor said nothing, only ordered us to hold the fort when we were sent here months ago. We...if we had stayed, if we had not surrendered...”

_The Emperor would have killed them all just to kill you, Byleth and Claude, _his father finished dryly. Dimitri couldn't swallow around the lump in his throat, fear and hundreds of other emotions running wild within his chest.

“Of course they don't care...” Atra let out a shaky, humorless laugh; panic bordering on madness lingered in those dark blue eyes, and she clung to Byleth's arms like they were a lifeline. “..._Unverzeihlich..._”

“Please, in words we can understand,” Rodrigue asked tightly.

“_Unverzeihlich,_” Atra repeated forcefully, as much to calm herself down as to make the declaration; the weight of her angry, hysterical tone made even his father's ghost wince. “It's unforgivable. She is willing to kill the world so she can rule over its ashes.”

Dimitri heard Byleth's breath hitch, even as the Empire soldiers began to babble and beg for an explanation. The look on her face told him that she was thinking of the same words he was. Sothis's warning...

...Did Agartha truly hate them so much, so determined not to acknowledge them as fellow human beings, that they would rather destroy the world than risk 'loosing it' again...? And Edelgard...

_Why, El, why? ...Why...? _

“I had a vision from Sothis...” Byleth said quietly. “Let us set up camp, and set up the army so I might tell everyone at one time. This was no act of hers, but a weapon wielded against us.” She bit her lip. “And please inform Mercedes that I wish her to tend to Jeritza Hrym. He's too delirious to interrogate in the state he's in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I hadn't been spoiled about the javelins of light. Imagine playing Radiant Dawn, only instead of Ashera being revived, the secret bad guy chucks a bunch of nukes at the various countries to 'incentivize' them to stop fighting. That cutscene would have been the greatest WTF twist I had seen in YEARS. (sulks) 
> 
> Jeritza is now a prisoner. Honestly, he's more interesting to me outside of his Death Knight persona or struggling against it than he is fully immersed in it...I think that's why he hasn't gotten much screen time in this fic...


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude gets comforted, oversees Jeritza's interrogation, and comes up with another plan.

“Claude...._Claude,_”

Byleth's voice sounded like it was coming through a haze; Claude pressed his trembling hands into fists, knowing he was standing on the edge of a breakdown that had been building up since he first heard that damned nickname weeks ago. He muttered something distractedly to show he was listening while staring at a fixed point in the clear evening sky-

-only to be turned around and pulled into a kiss.

He squirmed in surprise for a moment – was there anyone else around? – before melting into Byleth's arms. She gently cradled the back of his head, running her tongue along his lips and humming softly as she held him; like magic, a bit of the stress he'd been suffocating under melted away. When they parted, he felt like he could breathe.

“You did everything right,” Byleth said firmly before he got a chance to speak; Claude slumped a bit, was it that obvious? “No one can make a plan around something they don't know exists. If Atra didn't know that those weapons existed, how could you?”

Claude shook his head faintly. He was still seeing the impact of the javelins when he closed his eyes – fire and death. “We got lucky,” He rasped.

Byleth lightly smacked him upside the head. “Luck is a small factor of every battle,” she said. “Claude, you did everything right, including when I warned you the javelins were coming. You corralled everyone and ordered them out of the fortress. You did exactly what you needed to.”

“...” Claude leaned his head on her shoulder, accepting her embrace and letting the words settle over his mind, comforting him. The edges of his eyes were blurry – he wasn't sure if he'd been about to cry from frustration, fear, exhaustion or something else entirely.

“Claude?”

“Just...let's just stay here, for a minute.” His voice shook a bit, and he was glad he'd been able to leave the main army before he started to break down. “Please?”

Byleth murmured something in Old Fodlanese, gently stroking his hair. “Take your time,” She said reassuringly. “Take the time you need.”

“Great...because I'm on the edge of loosing it, okay?”

Byleth hugged him tighter.

Mentally the brunette removed the mask of ease and calm that he'd worn without stop ever since he'd been named Lord Riegan and effectively become the main tactician of the army, and hid in her arms like he used to do with his mother when he was a child. A violent tremor wracked his frame, causing him to reflexively press his fingers into her shoulders. His heart was hammering painfully; the edges of his eyes were blurry.

_I can't keep doing this, _he thought desperately, the weight of hundreds of lives lying across his back a tangible, crushing thing; he could see each dead in the wake of battle when he closed his eyes long enough, friend or foe. _How can I keep doing this?_

_Because no one else can, _his father's voice murmured in response. It didn't sound pitying; it was sympathetic yet knowing.

It still made his heart sink a bit.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed there together, Byleth stroking his back and occasionally kissing the top of his head, murmuring familiar-sounding words...after a few seconds, Claude remembered that Sothis had sung to him all those months ago to soothe him into sleep after that conversation they'd had...

_She's watching over us, no matter where we are, _his mother had told him when he was a child. _She loves you, my little Khalid; never doubt that. _

She probably didn't even know how right she was.

Slowly his heartbeat eased and evened out; Byleth took a step back and examined his face as his trembling stopped. “Better?” She asked sweetly. It was still a little odd to see her eyes having changed color, but they were warm and loving all the same; and that was all he needed.

“Yeah.” He gave her a small, weak smile. “I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown for a moment there...”

“You need to sleep more,” Byleth said chidingly. “Don't think I haven't noticed you've been staying up late ever since we marched from Garreg Mach.”

“There's too much to do.”

“Dimitri keeps saying that too,” His fiance-in-all-but-name pouted, scowling at him. “What am I going to do with the two of you?”

Claude chuckled, surprising himself. But before he had a chance to respond, a distant call of 'Byleth? Claude?' distracted him. Turning around, he saw Atra making her way through the trees to the small clearing he'd found a short walk away from the main camp. The renegade Agarthan smiled faintly when she arrived at the clearing and found them together; there was a slightly knowing spark in her eyes, _clearly Yuri is starting to corrupt you. _“Jeritza Hrym is waking up,” She said. “Mercedes is with him; so is Constance. He's secure, but I assume you wanted to be nearby when she started to interrogate him.”

Byleth's expression quickly flattened into a familiar business-like seriousness. “That's right. Please, lead the way.”

Atra nodded and tilted her head toward the camp before starting to walk forward. Claude trotted along after her, looking ahead to where he could just see the campfires and hear the chattering of various army men floating through the trees. The reminder that they were all safe helped soothe his troubled conscience.

They were lead out of the trees and back onto the hills and plains; the golden-red and pink rays of sunset beat down on the milling forms of their soldiers, many drifting between the various small camps that had formed. Blue and gold uniforms mixed freely as kingdom and alliance shoulders sat side by side in front of the campfires, trading stories and laughing at each other's jokes. Claude's eyes quickly found his fellow students; Raphael and Balthus were laughing at Leonie who was tugging on Lorenz's sleeve and lecturing him for some reckless action he'd done in the battle. Lorenz, surprisingly, seemed to be tolerating it.

_Well, don't make a move until before we're at Enbarr's gates, Leonie. I've got fifteen gold pieces in that betting pool! _

Atra lead them off to the side, where a number of wagons were sitting. One of them was actually a proper prisoner wagon, taken from a village county a while back. Constance was standing outside the open door; Yuri, Ashe, Ignatz and Hapi were standing in a circle around her, watching the inside of the wagon cautiously. A number of soldiers were there too; likely to keep an eye on the sole occupant. All of them were armed.

“You called him Jeritza,” Claude said curiously. “Not 'The Death Knight'.”

“I did,” Atra acknowledged.

“Why's that? You're usually pretty strongly opinionated when it comes to the Emperor's minions.”

Atra was silent for a moment; slowly, she walked to a stop about three yards away from the wagon. “You asked me about him before, when we first met. Do you remember?”

Claude blinked, curious. Byleth seemed to understand however. “Yes, that's right...you called him a broken man...”

“I know not what else to call him,” Atra said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I saw him once, while I was shadowing Solon on the road to Remire. For most of the day he was quiet and self-contained; he avoided talking to people, and when he did...he always sounded troubled, no matter who it was or what the conversation was about. Like his mind was on something terrible.” She bit her lip. “Late at night, I saw him stumble out of the hotel he'd been staying in, mumbling to himself and shaking badly... he wandered off into the alleys, not really looking where he was going. He bumped into a guard...” She scowled. “The man thought he was a homeless drunk. Kicked and spat on him, insulted him... I didn't get a chance to intervene. In an instant, Jeritza's whole body changed.”

She snapped her fingers in agitation. “I really don't know how else to describe it but demonic possession. In an instant, his body language became that of a completely different person; he grabbed the man and bashed his head into the wall, laughing – and his voice changed, too. The Death Knight's drawl isn't some magical trick, it's something he does without noticing... He kept slamming the man into the wall until he died.”

Claude grimaced at the mental image, even though he thought the guard's fate was somewhat deserved. “But then, after a moment...the demon went away. Jertiza's body slipped back into that exhausted, broken shell, and he stared down at the corpse with a stricken look on his face.” Atra bit her lip at the memory. “Then he leaned against the wall of alley and began to weep quietly. Have you heard a person utterly without hope cry? I had...it was the exact same in that moment.”

“That's...” Disturbing, unsettling, upsetting – Claude wasn't sure which word suited it best. He thought back to Jeritza's closed-off demeanor when he'd been an instructor, and how he refused to see anyone after sunset. Maybe...maybe the 'Jeritza' persona wasn't a mask to hide the Death Knight, his true self. Maybe they were both real.

Oh. _Oh. '_Unsettling' was a _very _good word for that thought. Two minds in one body, one malevolent, one resigned to his fate? How does that happen to a person?

Byleth's expression flickered between disbelief, horror and uncertainty. Likely her instinctive protectiveness towards her friends and memories of the things the Death Knight was capable of was at war with her reaction to this new information.

“He is broken in some way,” Atra said with a sigh. “I am afraid of, or at least unnerved by him...but I can't help but pity him as well...it's that wrong of me?”

“..Being able to empathize with your opponent is what keeps a soldier from becoming a monster,” Byleth said, giving her head a shake to clear it. “It's a good thing, Atra. Will you stay nearby while we interrogate him?”

“As you wish.”

“Claude...I know what I said earlier, but leave the interrogation to me and Mercedes, please...at least for the beginning?”

Claude bit his lip to suppress his initial reaction, not having to think very hard before he understood why Byleth was asking. “It's worth a try,” He decided. She smiled gratefully at him before increasing her pace, striding across the remaining distance to join the group at the prison wagon.

He followed more sedately, coming to a stop next to a serious-looking Yuri and an anxious Constance and peering into the prison wagon.

* * *

Mercedes was kneeling on the edge of the entrance of the wagon, her hands held out in front of her lit up with the soft light of Physic. The warm light of the Lamine Crest filled the otherwise dark area, illuminating the bloodied but otherwise mostly unharmed form of Jeritza von Hyrm. _Even the scarring from when I stabbed his eye out doesn't look terrible..._ The tall, pale man was chained by the wrists and ankles to the wall; not so tightly as to force his body into an unnatural position, but close enough that he wouldn't be able to lash out and grab anyone unless they came truly, perilously close to him. He was awake, at least partially; he was looking through one narrowed eye into the late evening light and Mercedes.

“Emile?” Mercedes asked tentatively, sweetly. “Emile, do you recognize me?”

_Emile?, _Claude wondered.

The chains clinked as Jeritza shifted, moving forward to get a better look at her. Ashe tensed up, gripping the short lance in his hand and shifting from foot to foot. “Mer...cedes...?” The young man rasped. And he was young, Claude realized – without the half mask or helmet to transform his face (or his altered voice, for that matter), Jeritza looked strikingly youthful. He couldn't be much older than them...! “Then it...truly was you...?”

“Emile,” Mercedes repeated in a tremulous voice; she crawled in closer despite mutual distressed sounds from Ashe and Ignatz urging her not to. “I'm so sorry. I never should have left you behind when I fled House Bartels. I should have come back for you sooner...” Her voice cracked.

“N...No...you were right...to leave when you did...” Jeritza reached up with his hand, trying to touch his sister – like he needed the contact to believe this was real. Mercedes fearlessly clasped it within her own and pressed it against her chest, letting him feel her heartbeat. Claude carefully took a few steps closer – just in case he was needed...and also to better see and monitor Jeritza's expressions.

Somehow he didn't think either Jeritza, no matter his mood, had much time for deceptions...but it was a good habit to be in.

“B-But something horrible happened to you after that,” Mercedes protested tearfully. “What's happened since we reunited at the Officer's Academy...I know it isn't something you would have wanted before then...if I had only brought you with me, you would have been safe!”

“He would have...chased us down...without rest,” Jeritza argued. “I was...his heir. The boy with the crest. You...he could afford to loose...only so long as I stayed behind... So...I chose to...so at least you and mother...could escape.”

While she'd occasionally made mention of the merchant who had adopted her (_never in very admiring terms, which said quite something – how much of a slimeball did you have to be for **Mercedes** to hold you in contempt?_), Claude didn't ever remember her mentioning Baron Bartels. He was getting a sneaky suspicion that the man was not a very good person.

He heard confused noises over his shoulder, Ashe in particular sputtering when he came to the realization that Jeritza and Mercedes were _siblings_. He'd put as much together himself when Dimitri told him about the odd interaction between the pair during the siege of Garreg Mach, but he didn't blame his friends for being blindsided.

“But still...” Mercedes protested. Constance moved to intervene, but Yuri grabbed her by the sleeve and shook his head faintly, mouthing out '_don't interrupt them' _when she whirled and opened her mouth to give him a retaliatory tongue-lashing.

“How did you end up with Edelgard, Emile?” Mercedes asked, pained curiosity in her voice. “I know that Baron Bartels died some time ago, but if you'd come to me, I would have shared my roof with you.”

Jertiza's expression twisted with hatred at the mention of his father. That reminded Claude of a certain story that came out of the Empire not too many years ago; the massacre of a ruling noble and his household, the culprit elusive despite the best efforts of investigators. “She found me...after that man died...” He said carefully. _You're avoiding something. Something you don't want us to know...? No, something you don't want **her **to know. ...I think you might actually love and care about her despite your, er, 'quirks'..._ “I was wandering the streets...the darkness taking hold of me again and again... She offered me a place..in this world. She promised me direction...She promised me a way to control it...”

“To control it?” Mercedes repeated. “Control what, Emile...?”

“This thing...this monster...I am now...” Jeritza enunciated, now looking pained. “She made me her knight...gave me battles to wage...it gave me a place where the darkness could take hold...but not hurt small, helpless things... If I keep busy...it lingers in the back of my mind...easier to ignore, to push back... For a moment...” he coughed, closing his eyes. “I almost...felt like a man again...” He shook his head, a shudder going from head to toe. “Then she gave command of me to them...”

“Them...the Agarthans?”

Jeritza blinked in surprise, then nodded. “They were...fascinated by me...by the darkness. They wanted to see...what made it happen... So when I was given to them...to capture Seteth's sister...they would push me to transform. They would make me go days without sleep...and forced strange medicine on me...so they could force it to come out... To see how I fought in that form...if it made me stronger.”

“They _what._” Mercedes's voice had gone very, **very** flat at that. Claude, who had stared death in the face a number of times since this war started, flinched backward instinctively. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ignatz, Yuri and _Byleh _all react the same way.

“I began...to loose control more...” Jeritza bowed his head. “I'm afraid...that now I might...even hurt you... That night at Remire...if not for...” He retracted his hand, letting it hover of his scarred, sightless eye. “If not for him...I might have...”

Mercedes reached out, gently stroking his cheek and murmuring soothingly to him. Then she said a single sentence in Old Fodlanese, her voice actually quaking with fury.

“So this is how the Empire treats its own people now?” Constance demanded, her voice shaking as well. “As meat shields and lab rats? Are its knights merely experiments that can be tortured with impunity?”

Jertiza blinked his one remaining eye and tilted his head, trying to find the familiar voice past his sister's form. Claude thought he might have seen the shadow of a surprised smile flicker across the pale knight's face when he spotted the energetic blonde.

“Technically, it's Agartha doing this to him, not the Empire. It's possible they were doing this behind the Emperor's back; they aren't very friendly for allies.” Yuri offered.

Mercedes took a calming breath, brushing some of Jeritza's silver-white hair away from his face. “Emile? Can I ask you a few things?” She asked gently, cautiously.

Jeritza nodded after a brief moment of hesitation. _You two were pretty close once, weren't you?, _Claude wondered. He didn't have any siblings; apparently his birth had been very hard on his mother, so his parents hadn't wanted to risk another pregnancy. His relationship with Bernadetta gave him a good idea of what he'd been missing; he wasn't surprised Jeritza (_Emile_) would choose his sister over an aloof employer and allies that had tortured him with sleeplessness.

“What were those things that destroyed Fort Mercus? Were you told?”

Jeritza shook his head. “No specifics... Only that the Emperor fears and hates them... she says they poison the world... Agartha has many...but they cannot make more...” He tilted his head down, troubled. “They say...the weapons could kill dragons...”

“Dragons?” Mercedes repeated. Claude heard Byleth gasp and felt his back stiffen. “Were they talking about the Immaculate One? She attacked the Empire after they were routed from Garreg Mach.”

“Yes... the archbishop.” Jertiza said that with such calm certainty, Claude almost missed it. Then he thought that he'd misunderstood. But before he was given the chance to ask, the disturbed knight carried on. “They used three...to injure her...knock her from the sky. They didn't successfully capture her...so they search for her, even now...a few days ago...they heard that she had been spotted...at the entrance of Lake Teutates...”

“Wait,” Claude interrupted, causing Mercedes to turn around and give him an indigent look. He quickly smiled apologetically before asking, “You're saying that Archbishop Rhea was seen at Lake Teutates?” _You're saying the archbishop...**is **the Immaculate One...?!_

“Yes...” Jeritza eyed him somewhat warily, which – well, fair enough. “My information...is late...after all...it had to travel to Fort Merceus... But you might find her there...if you look...”

Mercedes let out a gasp of relief. “Oh, I'm so glad. Thank you, Emile.” Clasping her hands together, she frowned in concern. “Were you warned? That they were going to cast those – those javelins at the fort? The professor said you told her to flee...”

“That side of me...wants to win a fight against her...the perfect creature...that cannot happen if she died...” Jeritza let out a shuddering breath. “I saw men...in Faerghus colors...and I knew that you were there, somewhere... so I warned her... But no one else was told... else they might have fled their posts...and given the trap away.”

Yuri let out a low whistle while Constance sputtered in wordless outrage. Atra didn't look remotely surprised, only contemptuous. _Which at least was a step up from the terrified panic she'd been consumed by until barely an hour ago. _Claude, meanwhile, was just marveling at the implications.

“She fears her...the professor...” Jeritza gave him a serious look over Mercedes's shoulder. “And you, as well. She reluctantly chose to use the weapon...in hopes of overwhelming the goddess's power...and killing the two of you. Otherwise...she wouldn't have thought it was worth it...”

“Wait, the two of us?” Claude blinked twice. “She actually considers me a threat comparable to Teach? ...Why?” His Crest gave him some incomparable advantages, yes, and he was making some of the plans, but how could that possibly compare to what Byleth and Sothis represented?

“You have to ask?” Yuri responded, giving him a bemused look.

Claude opened his mouth to make a joke, only to loose the thread when Ashe, Ignatz and _Hapi _all turned and gave him identical strange looks – as if they thought Edelgard's fear of him seemed perfectly reasonable! All he managed was a noise of confusion.

“Well...” Byleth said, only the slight tremor in her voice giving away the myriad of emotions she was experiencing. “There's something I ought to take to Seteth right away.”

* * *

As if fate had decided she was going to make up for her recent bout of capricious malice, when Claude and Byleth went looking for Seteth, they found him, Rodrigue and Judith talking to one of Yuri's 'birds'. Claude had to admire the loyalty Yuri's band of street boys and troublemakers had for him; the guy looked quite battered, including being scarred over one eye, but he was there, relaying what he'd heard to the army that Yuri had thrown his lot in with.

Byleth had mentioned setting money aside to pay them for their troubles. Claude strongly agreed and figured Seteth was the best person to petition the matter for.

“...saw the princess with my own eyes. Managed to slip this out of her travel bags, nearly lost my head to get away with it,” the bird said, holding up a wooden crescent moon carving. Claude had seen it before; it was one of the few home comforts Petra had brought with her to the Officer's Academy. “She was there, kicking the assess of older empire soldiers in the sparring. She was the loneliest-looking girl I'd ever laid eyes on; scared, too, always keeping off to the side with her personal guard of Brigid hunters.”

“Was she being watched?” Rodrigue asked.

“Oh yeah, all the time. Poor thing couldn't go leave the town, couldn't write letters home without someone looking over her shoulder, couldn't go to the market without two imperial guards. She must feel like the world entire is spying on her.” The bird shook his head.

“Considering how the Emperor bullheadedly alienated most people who could have been her allies, I imagine she doesn't want to loose Brigid's resources.” Judith said dryly. “Now, did you hear if she was being moved around?”

“Not much at all, but she's far east from here,” The bird said. “They're keeping her somewhat close to her home, a constant reminder of what she has to loose. If you want to steal her away and return her to Brigid, you're going to have to go to her.”

“Well that's surprisingly convenient,” Claude said mildly as they reached the circle. Yuri walked over to his 'bird', clasped his shoulder in gratitude and pressed a bag into his hands. The shorter boy thanked him and promptly disappeared back into the army.

“There's a several days march between us and the princess of a nation we don't want to go to war with, full of villages and small towns that won't be happy to see a foreign army passing through,” Judith said, turning on her heel and raising one eyebrow at him. “What part of that is 'convenient', boy?”

It was a challenge, not sarcasm, but it was still pretty frustrating to be called 'boy' when he was helping run the damned army!

“Because Lake Teutates is also east of here,” Byleth responded evenly. “And according to information our prisoner received a few days before, Lady Rhea was spotted in that area.”

Shock and bone-deep relief flooded Seteth's face, as stark and plain as when he'd been sitting at Flayn's bedside after her kidnapping and she'd been healed of all her injuries. “Truly?! You believe him to be sincere?”

“I doubt a man as troubled as him feels much loyalty to a country employing alchemists who tortured him with sleep deprivation to 'bring out his animal side',” Claude deadpanned. Rodrigue looked shocked, then revolted, but not particularly surprised – geez, what had he learned when he managed to capture the Agarthan mole in the old council?

Seteth closed his eyes; obviously he wouldn't be quick to forgive the man who kidnapped his sister for Solon, but he also didn't seem surprised to hear that Jeritza had been mistreated himself.

Judith, meanwhile, looked flabbergasted. Fair enough; she was a practical woman at worst, and no part of what Agartha did to their nominal allies was practical. “...Of course these mad alchemists would see a man's fits of bloodthirsty instability as a _positive _quality that required reinforcing,” she managed after a second of silence. “By the blazing flames.”

“Mercedes believes that he's being truthful,” Byleth said to answer Seteth's original question. “Seeing as they are half-siblings, I think she would know better than us what he's thinking.”

“We must go and rescue her,” Seteth said in determination.

“But what about Princess Petra?” Rodrigue asked, his brow furrowed. “It is important that we rescue the archbishop, but once we start moving east, the window of opportunity to spirit her away from the Empire will narrow. We risk meeting her on the battlefield beforehand, and that will drastically weaken any offers for peace we make her homeland.

Seteth looked quite torn and frustrated at the question, but he didn't explode like some of the Knights of Serios looked like they might despite how reasonable the observation was.

Claude clicked his tongue in thought. “Then we'll do both,” He said decisively. “Where's King Dimitri?”

Rodrigue gave him a curious look, but nevertheless said that he was with the other Lions. Yuri vanished in a teleportation thanks to his relic; the five of them quickly formed a small war council and waited until the violet-eyed teen reappeared with a slightly flustered but very attentive Dimitri in tow. He also came with a map of Enbarr, which was quickly opened and placed on a large rock that passed for a table.

Claude spared a second to admire how adorable his golden king was when he was caught off-guard.

“It's risky to split our army in enemy territory,” the brunette acknowledged, “but the Imperial army will need time to regroup after loosing the men holding Fort Merceus and Jeritza's capture; he was fairy high-ranked, unless I miss my guess. That's not to say we won't find trouble...I don't think we want the Emperor to know that we've found Lady Rhea's most recent location; so the Knights of Serios lead by Seteth and B-Lady Eisner-” _wow, _it was hard to remember to call her that in meetings; how many times had he nearly slipped up now? “-can split off from the main army and slip off into the lake while the main Faerghus-Leisceter force moves in several independent parts, holding the attention of forces in the area. That will give us a chance to pull off our second move – getting a message to Princess Petra on the sly. Yuri, you think your birds can reach her again?”

Yuri smirked. “She'll wake up, guards outside her room, and find the letter underneath her pillow.”

Claude grinned back before elaborating for Judith, who was raising a solitary eyebrow at him again. “Dorothea was Petra's closest friend at the Officer's Academy. If a letter comes to her written in the songstress's hand, she'll trust its contents.”

“And then what?” Seteth asked, eyes closed in concentration. “Knowing that we would rather not be her enemy would not change her situation much.”

“Did I say that was the last step?” Claude flashed him a grin. “Something oddly familiar to anyone who had been in the monastery last year is going to happen. Once she's read the letter, in a short little while, she's going to get kidnapped from the 'protective' hold of her Imperial minders.”

Dimitri's eyes snapped open. “Yuri could get in and out, couldn't you?” He asked, a note of excitement in his voice. “Your Crest and Relic are perfectly suited for that sort of subterfuge...!”

“Well, I wouldn't want to do it by myself. But if I had some people to run a distraction, a pre-planned escape route, and having troops already diverted to another location by 'attacks on imperial land'...?” Yuri flashed them his most charming smile. “I think I could pull something off.”

“And once she's with us, we can make for Brigid at all haste.” Rodrigue noted, looking thoughtful. “The Imperial Army will likely follow us into Brigid itself to retrieve her.”

“Then we'll have to fight them off,” Claude agreed. “It would be dicey if their army was at full strength, but it's not. Part of it is being held off at Faerghus, part of it will be scrambling to reorganize, and part of it was set ablaze in what's left of Fort Merceus. They can't afford to prioritize keeping Brigid over maintaining their army's ability to defend Enbarr.”

“A lot would have to be pulled off perfectly,” Judith warned.

Claude glanced lazily at Byleth, who sat up straight and smiled at him. “You said that you had a story to tell, my lady,” He said. “Shall I surrender the floor to you?”

He swore the smile he got in response belonged to Sothis, peeking through from behind Byleth's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude finally got to have a mini-break down! ...He was kind of pass due for one, honestly. An eighteen year old running an army is going to be stressed the hell out. 
> 
> Edelgard didn't know the Agarthans were mistreating Jeritza because he never complained about it, incidentally; on some level he thinks he deserved it because of the Death Knight. Plus, given that Solon creates an 'experiment' that drives ordinary people into a psychotic state...it's interesting (to me, at least) to think that he got the idea from watching Jeritza slip in and out of the Death Knight persona.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth ponders some of the things she's learned and searches Lake Teutates for Rhea.

Byleth was quite nervous when she was explaining Divine Pulse to Seteth, Judith and Rodrigue.

It was even necessarily that she was worried about being called mad anymore – being the interm Archbishop would go a ways to convincing the average faithful that she was telling the truth, after all – now her primary concern was that they would start over or under-thinking strategy once they realized that they had a 'reset lever', so to speak.

As fond of the three as she was – she was tempted to call Rodrigue a friend, in particular, with how kind he was to her and the subtle effort he put into ensuring she wasn't overworked – she ultimately lost her nerve when she was on the cusp of explaining that she had Sothis's heart in her chest. Rhea probably knew about that, so she could explain it when they found her.

While she was explaining, Byleth found herself thinking about to what Aelfric had said all that time ago, about her mother and Rhea's involvement in her birth. She'd dismissed it as the ramblings of a madman at the time...but after her father's death, she'd found his journal, and discovered that he'd suspected the same thing. That was why he'd left the monastery, faking his and her deaths in the process, before living the life of a mercenary...

Could it be true? Lady Rhea had replaced her heart with Sothis's, and somehow caused her mother's death? She didn't know. She had no one to talk to who might have good advice or understand what happened back then. Did Lady Rhea, who was so kind and motherly toward her, have really...just been using her to some unknown end...?

_Then maybe it was a good thing that we came back to the monastery, just to see you light up like that, _her father's voice echoed in her mind. _Or maybe we never had to leave in the first place..._

Byleth resisted the urge to bite her lip as she finished her explanation. Judith had looked so flabbergasted that Hilda, who'd come over with plates of dinner for them, burst into giggles. Rodrigue looked awed; Byleth rather hoped that he wouldn't take a more distant, reverent attitude towards her similar to that of the Knights of Serios... she didn't want to be isolated.

Seteth, meanwhile, was staring at her as though she'd fallen out of the sky. She was more and more aware of it when she described seeing Sothis in a vision and receiving the power of Divine Pulse shortly before her first mission with the Deer, but she couldn't figure out what he was thinking. Claude and even Dimitri noticed the intensity in the older man; Claude kept on eye on the man, his head tilted slightly and a familiar sharp, analytical expression on his face.

Once she'd wrapped her head around the implications, Judith decided that the plan could be executed as described, and together they and a few of the retainers who kept them up to date on the state of their inventory and the location of local villages they hammered out the rest of the details.

“To think the goddess is so close to us even now...” Rodrigue looked a little wistful. “I must confess, it's something of a relief.”

In her mind's eye Sothis wrapped one hand around her arm, a flash of guilt in her expression. _I'll do everything I can for you, _she said in response, though she knew that he couldn't hear her.

“You're not going to tell the army?” Judith asked with one raised eyebrow.

“I don't want anyone to become reckless,” Byleth answered honestly. “...And frankly, I'm afraid that some people might start actively worshiping me if they knew.” She shivered.

Hilda snickered. “That's our professor. Heaven forbid anyone actually know how far you go to protect them!” She draped her arms around Byleth's shoulders and hugged her tightly. “I can tell my brother, can't I?”

“...If it will ease his mind, yes.” She'd gotten more messages from Holst Goneril than any other of the army's northern commanders. Most of the letters were dedicated to keeping her up-to-date on the defense of Faerghus, but many of them were continual pleas to know of Hilda (_and Balthus, but he seemed more trusting of his older friend's ability to take care of himself_) 's continued health. “Just tell him to keep it quiet.”

“His messenger hawk will thank you for it,” Dimitri noted wryly. This caused everyone in the circle, including Seteth, to laugh.

With their next plan of action settled, Byleth excused herself along with Claude and Dimitri, retreating through the various tents and campfires to make her way back to her friends. After they were a sufficient distance away, Claude casually asked, “So what do you think Lady Rhea told Seteth about your connection to Sothis?”

“I wouldn't say he knew anything,” Dimitri pondered. “He looked as stunned as the others when Byleth told them about divine pulse.”

“But he kept looking at her like he was trying to see Sothis behind her eyes,” Claude pointed out. “And we _know _she's there. What if he does? What if Rhea does? She has to know something about the bond between them, because why else did she bring Byleth into the Holy Tomb? Remember, that's when Sothis got a bit of her memory back and figured out how to fuse her mortal heart into Byleth. She was expecting something to happen, too – she said that you were becoming whole after you passed out.”

“Become whole...?” Byleth wondered, biting her bottom lip. “Aelfric said that Lady Rhea was involved in my birth...do you suppose?”

Dimitri snorted. “I wouldn't take anything that man said too seriously, Byleth. He was deranged with his need to resurrect your mother; people like that can create their own memories to justify their actions.”

“True,” Claude acknowledged. Frowning at the sight of her troubled face, he grabbed her hand reassuringly. “Think of it this way, By. If Lady Rhea really is in Lake Teutates, you can ask her these questions yourself. I don't think she'll put off answering you now, with everything that's happening.”

“Jeritza – maybe we should call him Emile, now.” Byleth glanced back at the prison wagon, which was sitting near the Deer and Lion's campfire. The man within was almost content to be imprisoned, taking reassurance that the chains would prevent 'the darkness' from compelling him to hurt anyone. Mercedes wanted to be close to him; while the others had been uncomfortable but ultimately willing to give her the comfort of his presence.

Flayn in particular was understandably anxious knowing Emile was nearby, but – remarkably! – she expressed pity for her former kidnapper when she heard that his Agarthan handlers had tortured him around the same time. It was her reassurance that she did not hate Mercedes's wayward half brother that convinced the others.

“He said that she was hit by three of those missiles while...while in the form of the Immaculate One.” Saying the words out loud brought the images from Sothis's memory roaring to the forefront of her mind. Both Macuil and Indech had taken the form of dragons; if she hadn't seen that, she wasn't sure she would have believed Emile's words. But if Rhea could transform into the Immaculate One, who was first recorded being seen during the war against Nemesis...what did that mean?

“He did say that,” Dimitri said, a creeping look of disbelief on his face. “He must have been confused, though. How could that be possible?”

“I...I think I know a way,” Byleth said quietly. Dimitri paused, first looking oddly at her, only for his eyes to widen when he realized what she was referencing. Claude gave her a curious look, she shook her head and murmured, “I'll explain in a moment. I want to find Atra, at least...I might tell all our friends this, actually.”

Sothis was all but vibrating when the three of them reached the large bonfire that their friends had formed a circle around, anxiety, nervousness and a deluge of emotions bombarding the back of Byleth's mind. _My sons turned into dragons, _the goddess noted in agitation. _If Rhea can transform into one as well, does that mean she is also – ? Have I, this whole time, been three feet from my family at any given moment and not even known it?_

…_Sothis...if it's true, it's not your fault, _Byleth thought back at her. She reached one mental hand to hold the goddess's. _If you fell into a deep sleep after healing the world, you were in a weakened state._

_But how can a goddess be in a weakened state? How can a goddess fail to take care of her children? _She wasn't sure if Sothis was talking to her or herself.

_...I don't think that, for all your power, you were omniscient, _Byleth responded. _The old saying is 'not even the wisest can see all ends'...perhaps not even you._

Sothis's whirl of emotions didn't slow down much at that thought.

Byleth looked around the circle, trying to assess her friend's condition. The harrowing sight of the javelins of light was still visibly on their minds; Bernadetta kept pausing in her work on her dragon plushie, glancing nervously at the clear sky. Ignatz sat with his hands folded in his lap, repeatedly stepping up to the fire as if he couldn't stay warm. Constance was almost as subdued as she was in the sunlight, talking with Hapi in a low voice. Sylvain was muttering to himself and pacing, Ingrid occasionally trying to snag his arm and make him stop. Felix was sitting and staring at his feet, shoulders stiff with agitation; Glenn rubbed his shoulders absently, trying to comfort him despite his own grim countenance. Mercedes kept looking over at the wagon containing her half brother; there had been much arguing over what had should be done with him – knowing that he'd been tortured convinced everyone that he would turn coat, but no one could agree if he should be released to fight on their side in the war or be sent to the Great Bridge of Myrddin to be held until the end of war (_perhaps longer)_.

Raphael's seemingly permanent cheer was visibly dimmed; he kept fiddling with the bandages around his knuckles, despite Flayn repeatedly swatting at him to make him stop. Dorothea was humming an unfamiliar tune to herself on Bernadetta's right, staring up at the sky. Lysithea was talking to Cyril, trying to soothe his nerves from the looks of things. Linhardt was mumbling various theories to himself at his usual speed but with none of his typical enthusiasm, trying to get Atra to offer her opinions; but she seemed to shaken to participate. Balthus was pacing, occasionally complaining about how Yuri was 'too damn calm', prompting the latter to dryly inform him 'I only _look _calm'. Lorenz was saying something to a visibly agitated Leonie, who was aggressively snapping twigs and throwing them into the fire. Annette was chattering at a surprisingly calm-looking Dedue, seemingly trying to absorb some of his calm. Marianne and Ashe were sitting side by side, praying.

Hilda, who'd been passing out snacks, was the first to see them approach, and immediately perked up. “There you are, Professor, Claude, Dimitri! I thought they'd keep you longer!”

“What's the plan?” Leonie blurted out, jolting as if to stand up only to change her mind. “There is a plan, right? That's why you're back early?”

“I always have a plan,” Claude responded boldly. “You should really know that by now.”

“How can we possibly plan for the weapon that was just used against us?” Lorenz asked; the fire emphasized how pale was.

“Easy,” The brunette said with a dryness that often preceded a very sharp joke. “Teach rewinds time and we run like the blazing flames have burst up from the earth.”

A ripple of tense, awkward laughter rolled over the camp. It wasn't quite a tension-breaker, but it was better than nothing.

“I have a question,” Sylvain said, sticking his hand in the air.

“No need for that out here, Sylvain,” Byleth responded. “What is it?”

“If they had javelins of light that can oblierate Fort Merceus in the blink of an eye, why didn't they just drop them on us when we were stuck in Garreg Mach?” The redhead demanded. “Why not throw them at the Great Bridge, or at each of our nobles houses until we eventually break and surrender? Why bother with a charade of war if they could just do..._do_ _**this**_?”

“Because the Agarthans ultimately want to live on the surface,” Atra said before Byleth could open her mouth. Her voice was a little dull, but resolute as ever. “And I doubt the Emperor would find much pleasure in ruling over the ashes of a dying world.”

“What precisely do you mean by that?” Constance asked, unnerved. Sylvain somehow looked even more disturbed than before, flopping down on the log next to Ingrid who neglected to chastise him in favor of staring.

“I know what the javelins are, though I was always told that they no longer existed when I lived in Shambhala,” Atra said. “They were old weapons, used in wars against the other 'enlightened human kingdoms' before the cataclysm. The land they strike burns eternally; people who survive being in the blast radius are stricken with a heat that pierces through the skin and burns them from within.”

An absolute barrage of distressed and alarmed noises filled the air; she waved her arms frantically to reclaim their attention. “We escaped the radius of those javelins! Byleth's warning bought us enough time to get clear. I do not think anyone here now carries the heat within them.”

Bernadetta slumped against Dorothea side in pure relief. The songstress patted her head while trying to even out her breathing again. “Thank goodness,” she mumbled.

Atra smiled apologetically for a moment before becoming stoic again. She often wore that look, subdued anger and grimness, when talking about her home. “Yes, indeed. The point is, the missiles that hit the land burn for years and years after the fact. If the Emperor or Agartha were to attempt to destroy all their enemies by blasting all parts of the land of Fodlan with the javelins, they would render the land unlivable. They would be no happier than the most destitute villagers, trying to scrape out a living in the ashes of the field between the massive blazes their weapons have left upon the world.”

“So...hang on a second,” Ingrid said, glancing over her shoulder. Byleth grimaced as she saw smoke still curling up toward the sky where Fort Merceus once stood. “The fires that spring up where the javelins hit the ground...they just burn for all eternity? And nothing can smother them?”

“Only the goddess can,” Byleth responded for Atra, who blinked twice and then stared wide-eyed at her. She resisted the urge to snort; Sothis was doing it for her. _Obviously Thales had chosen to omit that oh-so-insignificant detail from his version of history, _the goddess growled. _What **is** one more lie on top of the tapestry of deception he's woven at this point? _“Sothis told me that she'll purify the land Fort Merceus once stood on once we have the time for it...unfortunately, duty demands it's fairly low on our current list of priorities.”

“So they can't just throw javelins at us until one of them manages to hit its mark.” Balthus said in relief. “Well, that's good to hear.”

That drew some of the dread out of the atmosphere. Knowing the javelins existed, and that despite their effects neither Edelgard nor Thales were above using it, was sobering...but balanced with the knowledge that they could not be used carelessly, they knew that a fighting chance still existed. Their efforts weren't doomed to failure and the destruction of their homelands were not guaranteed as retaliation for their victory.

“What's the plan, then?” Leonie asked, sitting up a bit straighter as Byleth walked over to her. She moved over a bit so there was enough room on her log for the girl who was functionally her adoptive sister. Dimitri joined Glenn while Claude sat next to Yuri, positioning themselves so everyone in the circle could easily hear their voices. “Can we find where the javelins are thrown into the sky from? Actually, shouldn't Atra be able to lead us to Shambhala itself?”

“I could, and I will – eventually.” Atra acknowledged. “But we would have to turn around and move back into Alliance land. Either way, Shambhala is quiet; Thales believes he has a foolproof sleight of hand in the form of Adrestia. No troops or attacks will come from the city so long as he thinks we believe the only threat to your freedom is the Empire.”

“Shambhala is at home?” Hilda made a face. “Ooooh, that's disturbing to think about.”

“We'll get around to Shambhala in time,” Claude promised, a dark look crossing his face. He had let out a long string of curses when Atra told him where the underground city was located; including a few that Byleth hadn't recognized and made Sothis laugh _very hard_. “But for now, let's continue to focus on the Empire. We have to take out the Emperor and her Agarthan friends if we ever want to have peace on the surface. And to that end, how about I explain the next leg of the plan?”

A general noise of agreement greeted him. Byleth accepted a glass of tea from Mercedes and sipped it as Claude explained the plan. Dorothea perked up noticeably when she heard about the plan to rescue Petra; she enthusiastically agreed to write the letter and demanded Yuri take her with him to 'kidnap' her friend from her position in the Imperial army. Lorenz questioned the division of labor when it came to who was running distraction, who was helping extract Petra, and who would be going to Lake Teutates with the Knights of Serios, while Bernadetta expressed interest in being on being assigned to help Petra and her men escape.

“Dimitri, will you lead the fraction of the army that will distract the city from Petra's rescue?” Byleth asked him. “If they see you at the head, they'll believe that we've brought the whole of our forces down on their heads.”

“I'll see it done,” Dimitri promised, smiling at her. “I doubt they'll suspect we have any interest in Petra specifically if it's largely kingdom forces on the offensive, after all.”

“Considering the Emperor seems to consider all of us – and you specifically – complete fools, there's no way they'll see the ruse before it's too late.” Felix growled. Dimitri's face abruptly became stony and expressionless; Claude shot the blue-haired boy a glare and Glenn lightly smacked his brother upside the head. “Ow! Am I wrong?”

“You know what you did,” Glenn responded, exasperated.

“I'm worried about Lady Rhea,” Marianne said softly. “I would like to go with you to Lake Teutates, Professor. Would Seteth be amendable to that?”

“Of course,” Byleth said, bemused at the thought.

“I'll go too, then,” Ashe offered immediately. Sylvain whistled, earning himself a dirty look from the silver-haired archer. “Lake Teutates...I'm still a little nervous about going there, to be honest. But if I'm with you, it'll be fine.”

_As if I would lake the magic of the lake disappear him, _Sothis snorted, sounding a little more like her usual self. _Who does he think I am? _

Amused, Byleth lent her friend control of her body for a moment. Sothis made a point of catching Ashe's eye and winked reassuringly. His eyes went really wide for a second before smiling gratefully, relief visible in his shoulders.

“I've read all the myths about the lake,” Linhardt mused. “It's said to be sacred to Saint Indech, who loved water in all its forms; rivers, lakes and oceans. Supposedly he summoned a tsunami that drowned huge numbers of Nemesis's brainwashed followers in one of the war's final battles. I think I would like to go as well, Professor. It would be a shame to foist the sole responsibility of medic onto you and Marianne.”

“I'm going to,” Claude sang. “I trust Dimitri and Yuri to handle Petra's extraction, and I want to see how many of the legends of the lake are true as well.”

“I'd like to go help Petra,” Ignatz said tentatively; Byleth nodded in acceptance, causing him to smile and speak more confidently. “Will you come with us, Flayn? Fortify would be invaluable in a skirmish like that.”

“Hmm...” Flayn hummed, looking torn. Part of her wanted to go with her brother, undoubtedly...yet clearly a not-insignificant part of her wanted to stay right at Ignatz's side.

“We won't be separated for long,” Byleth offered. “The Lake and the city in which Petra is 'deployed' are in the same direction; heaven willing, we'll enter Teutates, find Lady Rhea, and be out in the same evening. That will allow us to catch up with you either during or after Petra is secure with the united army and you have won the skirmish.”

That seemed to push the green haired girl over the edge. “I am terribly worried about Lady Rhea, but rescuing our friend Petra is no less important! Mercedes, if I go with the rescue squad, perhaps we can coordinate to keep everyone healthy?”

“Of course! One of us can stay with the main army while the other goes with Yuri. Her friends from home will need to be lead out in the confusion as well, after all; more chances for injury to occur when speed is of the essence.” Mercedes said, clapped her hands together.

The others chipped in; most of the Deer deciding to follow Byleth into Teutates while Balthus and Hapi also decided to go, leaving Constance to provide Bolting cover to Dimitri's contingent. Having a plan seemed to go the rest of the way to making everyone relax; that's when Byleth took a breath and said, “There's something I've been meaning to tell you, though I haven't had a good moment. I...I had a dream in which I saw one of Sothis's memories from just before the cataclysm.”

Lysithea let out a choked noise. “_Really?_”

“Yes. It left me with a lot of questions...especially about the Immaculate One.”

Byleth recounted the dream slowly and precisely; as she talked, she saw Claude's eyes steadily widened, and she knew that he was going to pout magnificently that she had told Dimitri right away, but not him. Never mind that she hadn't had a moment to catch him alone somewhere secluded.

“Saint Macuil had a son?” Mercedes asked, startled. “I don't remember any scripture saying that he had children of his own.”

“That's what caught your ear?” Lysithea sputtered. “Not the fact that he and Saint Indech both _transformed into dragons?!_”

“So that is how the Agarthans knew that the javelins were too dangerous to use in bulk,” Lorenz said with a snort of contempt. “By blindly razing the world around them like a wyvern infected with rabies?”

“I think it's pretty well established that these people have more arrogance than common sense, can we please focus on the dragon in the room?” Hapi asked dryly. “All the scriptures said that the Saints had divine powers; if that doesn't fit the bill, I don't know what does.”

“All of you are missing the point,” Claude said flatly. Everyone blinked at him; Byleth cocked her head, surprised by how serious he looked – she would have thought he'd be excited by this newfound information... “Do you know what Thales and his people call Crests? They call them Dragon's Blood.”

Atra let out an absolute vacuum of a gasp...and to Byleth's surprise, Lysithea did too. Her white-haired friend was slowly going pale, her eyes staring off into the distance as if she was suddenly being assaulted by memories of her own. Not that she was doing much better; how could she have forgotten that?

“That's true,” Atra blurted out. “And Marianne – ah, I'm sorry, but your Crest – the form you took, didn't it look almost-?”

Marianne pressed one hand on her mouth, shock on her face as she came to the same conclusion.

“W-Wait a moment,” Lorenz protested while the Blue Lions who hadn't been present that night all gave Marianne and Atra confused looks. “I have inherited a Crest, and I've never possessed anything like the ability to shift form into s-some sort of dragonic creature.”

“Me neither,” Ingrid said, looking a little shaken but nonetheless contemplative. “Is that how the Agarthans perceived the goddess's physical form? As some great dragon? The scriptures say that the way Sothis granted the Crests to the Elites was by having them drink some of her blood. If they were around at the time of the cataclysm from which she saved the world, they would have to have seen her.”

Byleth wondered if she should mention Emile's offhanded remark about Rhea being the Immaculate One. But after a few seconds, she discarded it; she wanted to know if it was true or not before she said anything. “It's been a thousand years...maybe over time, the Crests lost the ability to grant the ability shift forms,” She offered. “Of course, this is pure conjecture; Sothis still misses many of her memories, and Lady Rhea is the only person who might know more.”

“We should ask her when we find her,” Lysithea said, almost vibrating in place. She still had a distant and very troubled look on her face; Byleth thought about confronting her about it, but she knew how stubborn the girl was; she wouldn't talk about it until she wanted to – or had to.

“If she's up to it,” Byleth agreed, her stomach twisting as she remembered what Emile had said about the javelins hitting the Immaculate one – and Atra's dire words about heat from the weapons penetrating the body and burning it alive. _Please be okay, Rhea..._ “We march tomorrow, so don't stay up too late tonight, everyone.” Laughs and smiles met her declaration, despite how confused and uncertain her friends were in the face of this information. “...What shall we sing tonight, Dorothea?”

Dorothea blinked and then smiled brightly. “Oh, I have the perfect one.”

“Is it another tragic tale of love lost? Please, I can't take another one, you're killing me...” Balthus moaned.

“Ignore the brute, Dorothea, his lack of taste is a running joke in Abyss,” Constance said, smacking her friend threateningly on the arm when he opened his mouth to object.

Dorothea chuckled; Sylvain, though he probably didn't know it, had a dazzled look at his face at the sound. He watched her attentively as she stood up and did a few scales to ready her voice; Byleth was beginning to wonder if the boy who'd offhandedly told her he actually hated women had finally, actually fallen for someone for real.

* * *

She hadn't expected Dimitri's departure to carry out his part of the plan to leave her so bereft.

But once she, Seteth and their chosen group of soldiers split off to take the winding, hidden roads to the mythical lake of Saint Indech, it hit her like a falling star. It was at this point that she realized she'd never been apart from him for very long before; only the monthly missions had sent them in different directions, and even then they'd often collaborated. Not having him at her side in a war?

Knowing how strong he was didn't help. Having faith in him didn't help. She kept looking for him even though she knew he was far away.

In the middle of the night partway to their destination, she pawed at the empty side of her futon, wondering if the nightmares were keeping him awake. Fortunately a familiar scratching on the entrance of her tent drew her from her thoughts. “Come in,” She whispered.

Claude slipped in almost silently, the soft golden glow of his crest disappointing so only the dimness of a torch stone illuminated his features. (_such stones were a recent development from the Alliance, something that could save your life if you were attacked in the night. Not bright enough to keep you awake, but giving you the ability to see more than an inch in front of your face.) _She smiled faintly and held out her arms to him, wanting his company to chase that loneliness away.

“Try not to worry,” The brunette whispered as he crawled over her, kicking off his shoes. “Yuri is with him.”

“I know,” She whispered back. “I just...” _I worry. He's not stable on the battlefield, he needs someone to pull him out of the terrible darkness he spirals into, needs help to hold on... _

“_I know,_” Claude said fervently, and her heart ached at the realization that he'd said it to comfort himself as much as her.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss, he pushed his tongue into her mouth and moaned softly into it, running his fingers through her hair. When they parted, he slipped underneath the blanket and pulled her up against him, kissing and nipping at the nape of her neck. She sighed contently and let their intimacy drive away all the fear, exhaustion and other horrors of war.

Before she drifted off to sleep, warm and content, she heard Khalid whisper _'I love you' _in her ear. She murmured the words in turn before drifting off.

* * *

“It's getting hard to see, Seteth...” Byleth noted in concern, through the trees.

“True, but it's a good sign.” Seteth responded, gripping the reigns of his wyvern tightly. While the large male creature was well-disciplined, something about Lake Teutates was bothering him; he kept trying to pull away or fly up over the treetops. Maea was only slightly better behaved, Byleth could hear a perturbed Lysithea bribing her with a small apple to stay calm. She wasn't sure if Leonie and Lorenz's horses were giving them similar trouble by the simple fact that they were _hard to see_. “This fog is a defining characteristic of Lake Teutates; it is said that the goddess herself shrouded it in response to Indech's prayer to have a place of solitude the desperate could flee too.”

_I don't remember doing so, but I don't remember a lot of things, so I suppose I have nothing to add. _Sothis muttered unhappily. Her mood was still fairly low since her dream; even her teasing was somewhat few and far between.

It really bothered Byleth, and she couldn't seem to find a way to comfort her ghostly friend.

“It might be hard to find Lady Rhea in this,” She said worriedly. “If there are enemies here, they could catch us completely by surprise...”

Seteth expelled a soft breath, before turning and giving her a sympathetic look. “Have faith, Byleth.” He said reassuringly. “She is here, and she will find us.”

His confidence wasn't quite infectious, but it did lift her mood. Byleth nodded and picked up her pace just a bit, reaching Marianne's left side. “How are you holding up, Mari?” She asked gently, phrasing the words to make it clear what she was referring to.

Marianne bit her lip and gave her head a small shake. “It's...hard to push back,” She whispered. “I haven't had another episode yet...but it's only a matter of time. Soon, I think. What if I'm seen transforming by the army? What if I hurt some of our people? What if everyone sees that I'm-?”

“I'll protect you,” Byleth said, quiet and firm. “Don't be afraid.”

“_We'll _protect you,” Ashe reassured her. “You've done so much good, Marianne. That can't all be erased just because you have Maurice's Crest.”

“I agree,” Atra murmured. She was holding her Flame Sword up as a makeshift torch, illuminating the area around and in front of them. Her free hand rested on the hilt of her other sword; she was alert and listening for any sound of conflict. “If there are people who cannot see that, we will _make _them see it.”

“You...” Marianne sniffed and rubbed at her eyes, dashing away the beginnings of tears. “All of you...”

“Ugh...is anyone being reminded of our second mission? The skirmish on Magdred Way?” Leonie groaned. “At least it isn't pouring rain on us...but I swear, this fog is just as bad...”

“Look at it this way,” Hilda said optimistically. “This time, we have four sacred weapons with us instead of just one!”

A ripple of laughter went through the troops, even the Knights of Serios. “Of course, back then we could be rid of this fog by attacking the mage conjuring it,” Lorenz noted tiredly. “I'm afraid that this, by comparison, will not be so easily escaped.”

“Ugh, take it easy big guy!” Hapi's voice drifted from further back; her words were followed by an anxious nicker from her mount. “What is it about this place that's bothering you guys so much?”

“The air feels different here, doesn't it?” Balthus asked. The people near him must have given him strange looks, because a moment later he added defensively, “I'm serious, and I'm not referring to the dampness from the fog. The air, the earth, the sounds...everything here just subtly _different. _I can't be the only person noticing that!”

Marianne glanced to the left and the right. “No...I think you're right,” She said. “We're stepping into sacred land...we must be nearing the lake proper, Professor.”

“That's a relief. Ugh! C'mon, Ivory! Don't blame me for this,” Claude grumbled, following along just behind Seteth with his aggravated mount. Ivory trilled in what sounded like frustration in response. “Look, if you smell something important, please stop trying to yank my arm off and point in the direction with your wing...”

Byleth let out a small giggle, gazing ahead with one hand resting on the Sword of the Creator. The fog was thick enough that you couldn't really see further than a couple of yards in front of you; a chill hung in the air and wind whistled through the trees. It was eerily quiet...even the birds weren't singing, which wasn't a good sign. That meant something had scared them off.

_It makes sense that they would look for her, _Sothis noted solemnly, understanding her train of thought. _Edelgard would want her for a trophy prisoner, and the Agarthans... _Byleth was almost choked by the wave of agitation, worry and anger that flooded off of her friend. _It's not worth thinking about what they might do...especially if she truly is the Immaculate One. We must find her, and quickly. _

_Who do you think either of them could spare to look for her? _

_Thales would send his own people so he could do what he wanted before turning her over to his ally. The Emperor is relying more and more on him... _Sothis hissed. _If they're here, it may be entirely men of the underground. _

Byleth paused when she noticed Atra had done the same, her sword arm dropping to her side. “Atra?” She asked in concern.

“Shh,” The renegade murmured, tilting her head a bit. “Can anyone else hear something?”

Seteth came to a stop, alarm radiating off of his posture. The entire army contingent slowed to a stop, listening to the quiet. For a moment Byleth didn't hear anything, wondering if Atra was mistaken – and then she heard it. Shouting – and the crackling of magic. “Someone got here before us,” She said sharply. “Damn it all – Lysithea, torch please!”

In an instant, Lysithea was at her side, handing the magic wood over and quickly set it alight. Byleth took aim and then threw it into the fog ahead of her. When it landed on the ground, the fire burst upward and dissipated the fog in a massive circle around it.

Now provided with some visibility, Byleth ran forward as Marianne, Ashe, Lysithea and Claude all mounted up. Seteth bolted after her as she climbed up onto a stone raised platform, snatched the torch up, relit it and threw it down the road again.

The fog was pushed away, and the torch landed right at the foot of a black-clad Agarthan mage. She jumped and let out a startled noise, which turned into an alarmed yell when she looked up and saw Byleth standing directly in front of her. As the fog melted in a wide arc, a dozen more Agarthans became visible, and she was willing to bet that there were many more hidden in the mist.

“The Fell Star!” The woman screamed. “They're here for the beast! Find her! Find them and kill them bo-” An arrow from Failnaught whipped past Byleth and slammed into her throat, causing her words to break off into a horrible gurgle before she fell down dying.

“Rhea!” Seteth cried into the fog, his tone frantic. He quickly whistled for his mount, who flew next to him and waited for him to jump on his back. “Rhea, where are you?!”

“Torches out!” Byleth yelled as she drew the Creator's Sword and ran down the stairwell, dodging Miasma and Death flying at her from different directions. She jumped to the stone pathway at the foot of the stairs and spun in a circle, swinging the blade in a wide arc; it split into a whip and slashed through four mages, injuring each of them by different degrees. Ashe's Brave Bow rained arrows down on the men to her right while Thoron from Marianne pierced through two men on her left. “Torchbearers, keep back and maintain visibility for the fighters! Keep in large groups, follow the roads and be careful!”

What lay out on the ground in front of them was a mazelike network of stone platforms over a still lake. The water was dark as the night sky, preventing her from seeing if anything dangerous lay beneath the surface; hopefully everyone would err on the side of caution and avoid getting dunked... The fog was oppressive; the Knights were starting to light torches, one running after Claude, Lysithea and Raphael as they charged off on the road to her right. The shouting grew stronger; if Rhea's voice was somewhere in that mixture, she couldn't tell.

_Please be here, Rhea, please..._

She wasn't the only one worried, apparently. Quite contrary to his usual quiet, cautious approach to everything, Seteth lit a torch and simply took off to the right, Spear of Assal in hand, caution to the wind. “Seteth?!” She called out, startled. Her voice must have gotten lost in the opening sounds of battle; he didn't react before disappearing into the fog. “Damn it – Atra, Marianne, Ashe, follow me!” She took off after him, praying they'd been near enough to hear her.

Atra appeared at her side seconds later, her flame sword giving her extra light. The clatter of hoofbeats followed after her. As they took off in pursuit of Seteth, she heard Hilda jump down the steps and yell something that sounded suspiciously like 'toss me, Baltie!' _When I catch Seteth and get back here I better not finding you doing something stupid! _She ranted silently; her ire was broken up by shock as she nearly ran straight off the edge of the platform into the water. She halted, nearly teetering over until Atra grabbed her arm and steadied her.

The renegade pointed her flame sword forward; there was a large-but-not-impassible gap between the stone they were standing on and another platform that lead northward, which Seteth was following – and getting into a tussle with some figures she could barely see. “The horses can't make this, leap.” She cursed. “New plan – Marianne, take Ashe and go find out what Hilda's doing to give me gray hair. Atra and I will catch up with Seteth.”

“Are you sure?” Marianne asked in concern as she backed up to take a running leap.

“Positive. We'll be back shortly.”

“...Okay, I trust you Professor.” Ashe said. “Be careful!”

“You too,” Byleth responded with a quick smile. Then she took a running jump.

* * *

She made it easily; she probably didn't even need the start, but old habits were hard to break. She spun around just in time to catch Atra's arm when she managed to get most of her feet on the stone but almost toppled backwards. _Good thing she'd sheathed her swords! _“Thanks,” She gasped.

“No problem. Seteth!”

The two girls drew their swords and hurtled after the green-haired man. They found him just as a spear of magic flashed from a lance tip and pierced straight through his stomach and his wyvern, causing a horrible scream to leave his throat.

Byleth cussed virulently and looked for the source...what she saw was a woman holding a tall, elegant black lance. Once she had her location tapped down, she activated Divine Pulse.

Moving a few second backwards, she released the power at the moment she'd pulled Atra onto the stone. Whirling on her heels, she unleashed the Creator's Sword and swung her blade upward, casting a blade of magic in the direction of the enemy. She heard a pegasus shriek...but no splash to indicate it had been cut down. “Damn it, damn it, what the hell is that thing?” She wondered, running forward with a confused Atra in her wake. “Seteth!”

“Rhea!” Seteth was still shouting into the fog, even as he stabbed a mounted knight with the Spear and directed his wyvern to grab a Hero in its claws and fling him bodily into the lake. Moments later, that blast of blue magic appeared again, but this time Seteth just barely managed to dodge it. “Rhea, where are you?!”

No answer came – only a flood of Agarthans.

“Seteth, don't leave your allies behind!” Byleth yelled in frustration. “Why do I have to remind _you_-” She gave up her scolding halfway because a flare of a blue lance flickered above her head. She pushed Atra backward and rolled forward; the impact still nearly threw her into the lake, and would have if she hadn't embedded her hand into the stone to stop her momentum.

Atra swung her flame sword at the mist, sending a wave of fire at the perpetrator. Byleth twisted her head up and cast Aura at the Hero looming over her, aiming a sword at her neck. The spell burned straight through his armor and blasted him back and out into the water; she barely gave it any mind, searching for the pegasus knight –

_No...No, that's a Falcon Knight. _She realized when she saw a silver-white blur move over her head, blue light trailing in its wake. It twisted elegantly to avoid the fire blast, swinging the lance down at Atra who blocked it with her two swords. _The highest level of mastery an equestrian could reach. _

Rolling back onto her feet, Byleth grabbed the Creator's Sword off the ground and swung it in its whip form at the pegasus. Again the blow was dodged, though that took the pressure off of Atra who had been forced down to her knees. _Damn...that Knight must be quite physically strong. _

“I'm sorry, Byleth,” Seteth said distractedly; he swept his lance across the face of a mage after dodging Banshee. His wyvern swung his tail into the stomach of a hero, throwing him backwards. “We must find her; they'll kill her if they reach her first-”

“Eye on the Falcon Knight, Seteth!” The woman was taking another dive at them, quick as lightning; Byleth jumped out of the way, and then had to be pulled backwards by Atra to avoid getting skewered by another blue lance of magic falling from the sky. Seteth thankfully took her advice, pulling hard on the reigns and moving out of the way just in time.

Byleth saw a flicker of orange on the woman's back before the impact of the magic blast threw both her and Atra into the lake; then she saw nothing but darkness as she plunged beneath the surface. She scrambled, trying to find Atra, trying to swim upward, but her armor weighed her down – the shock of the freezing water sank into her brain, scrambling her thoughts. Couldn't see Atra, couldn't figure out which way was up, her lungs were burning from the water she'd reflexively swallowed-

_Byleth, turn back! _Sothis chided, her voice cutting through her panic. _You can afford it, turn back! _

Byleth snapped back to reason long enough to focus and summon Divine Pulse. She turned back time until she was standing on the stone walkway, listening to Seteth and checking on him...she looked up and saw the Falcon Knight lowering her lance, having already cast its spell and only partway visible within the fog. _Damn she's fast! _

She moved back a few seconds earlier, completed the spell and released the time freeze. Then she swung the Creator's Sword into the fog in a wide arc, hoping to at least graze their elusive foe.

Thankfully, she heard the pegasus whinny in pain and knew that the spell was canceled; the fire of the sword burned the fog away, revealing the Falcon Knight as her mount dropped a few feet, feathers singed and smoking.

The rider – who hadn't so much as let out a peep despite the fact she must have been hit by the fire as well – was holding a shield out to her side. Smoke dissipated around it, revealing a gleaming orange light and a roughly carved surface... As Byleth stared at it, as it was lowered, she thought back to the moment when Rodrigue handed Felix one of the two Fraldarius family treasures, the shield to Glenn's sword.

She couldn't see the woman's face; she wore a heavy overcoat that cast her face in shadows; it covered whatever skin wasn't protected by armor. But Byleth knew she was watching her in that moment...truly seeing her for the first time. Her gaze was heavy, though what the woman was thinking – without being able to see her eyes, she couldn't tell.

Then the Falcon Knight snapped her lance out to the side, pointed at Seteth as he spoke the words to reassure her. “Seteth, watch the Falcon Knight!” Byleth shouted as Atra sent two slashes of fire at the enemy; again, she bobbed and weaved around them while swooping towards Seteth.

Byleth darted forward and lashed out with the sword again – this time aiming not for the pegasus or rider, but at the lance she was wielding. The Creator's Sword wrapped around the length of the slender weapon and got caught; with the enemy a breath away from piercing Seteth again, Byleth yanked downward; pulling the weapon away and forcing the Falcon Knight to drop again. Seteth recovered quickly, thank goodness, and swiped at her with the Spear of Assal; the rider smoothly leaned backwards, letting it swipe over her head, then gracefully rolled and dropped off the side of her mount without letting go of her weapon.

Atra swore and turned around, blocking and slashing at a War Master that had crept up on them as they danced this dance further and further down the stone pathway. Two mages came out of nowhere to harass Seteth, forcing him to turn and chuck a javelin at one of them. That left Byleth and the Falcon Knight standing across from each other.

The Knight was very still for a moment...staring, again. Then she twisted her lance just far enough to point it at Byleth, the tip glowing with light. Byleth realized with a jolt that if she dodged, the blast would hit and undoubtedly kill Atra; cussing; she yanked the Creator's Sword to the side, diverting the magic blast but coming loose from the lance itself. The rider's pegasus was flying overhead, whinnying in alarm, as she darted straight at Byleth and swung the lance at her.

She snapped her blade back into sword form and blocked it, knocking the blade aside before taking another swipe at her with magic coursing through the blade. The Falcon Knight jumped backwards and raised the arm holding the shield, which caught the most powerful of the relics without shattering; she pushed the woman back multiple feet, her heels digging into the stone ground and creating gouges. The woman didn't flinch or so much as whisper at the impact.

Byleth stared at the shield. It looked so similar. Almost identical. Yet – that couldn't be possible, could it? The Aegis Shield was one of a kind; that was the entire _point _of the sacred relics.

The woman stared at her from within her hood. Byleth flicked her eyes up from the shield and saw a pair of pale reddish-gold eyes staring back at her. She saw a few things in that moment. Recognition. Surprise. Resignation. Certainty.

Then she brought her lance – a slender, elegant pure black blade; the same metal that Emile's Scythes were constructed from – up over her head and aimed it at her. Byleth summoned her inhuman strength, forced the shield down (_but not as far as she could to a normal human, what is going on-_) and then parried the lance upward, diverting the magic blast again. But that took the pressure off the Falcon Knight, who jumped back and swung up into the saddle of her pegasus, taking back to the air.

Seteth tried to intercept her, but she deflected the Spear of Assal off of the shield. A sharp ringing sound hit Byleth's ears; something felt _wrong _about that -

“You?” Seteth gasped; disbelief wracked his voice. “No, no that's _impossible_-”

The rider still said nothing. She fired a magic lance at him, which Seteth tried to dodge but still grazed his wvyern's wing, causing him to crash down to the stone pathway. Then she rose up, glanced back in Byleth's direction...then turned and flew away, vanishing back into the fog.

A crash and splash informed Byleth that Atra had dealt with her opponent. Moments later the Agarthan was at her side, panting, “That wasn't some grunt.”

“Have you seen her before? Or that weapon?” Byleth asked tensely.

Atra shook her head virulently. “No, never. The closest comparison is the scythe they made for Emile, but that's different – more refined – I don't know,”

“It's alright...it's probably new.” Byleth then darted forward a few steps and, in a fit of frustration, smacked Seteth's leg the way she'd sometimes done to Lorenz when he didn't listen to her instructions. “Why did you go off on your own?! Seteth, your entire job is to be smarter than that!”

When he didn't immediately respond, she frowned up at him. What she saw in his face...

He was staring in the direction the Falcon Knight had left. His face had gone extraordinarily pale; his hands were shaking, eyes wide and unseeing... horror and disbelief were mingling together across his face. With a creeping worry replacing her anger and frustration, Byleth realized she'd seen that face before.

Dimitri had the same expression on his face the day he told her what happened in the Tragedy of Duscur.

“Seteth!” She shouted, no longer trying to chastise him but instead pull him back to reality. “Seteth, I think she's retreated! We need to find Rhea and make sure she isn't just finding another target!”

Thankfully, that snapped the green-haired bishop out of the state he was in. “R-Right,” He managed. “I'm sorry.” His voice was shaking...what was going on? Did he recognize that woman? How could she have another Aegis Shield, almost identical to the one Felix carried now? “Let us go.” He was _really _shaken. She hadn't seen him like this since Flayn's kidnapping.

Byleth nodded and murmured 'lead the way' to Atra. She looked visibly confused, and worried, but she accepted and lead the way forward with her sword held out in front of them.

They didn't go very far before the ground beneath them rumbled; Byleth turned her head to the right and her eyes widened when she saw the glacially still water suddenly start rippling and shaking violently. Moments later, a huge wave of water surged up from within the fog; she saw black rags within it as it barreled over the stones and smashed into the stone. Byleth nearly lost her footing; as she regained it and the shaking stopped, the water dripping back into the lake, she saw dozens of broken bodies – all wearing Agarthan gear – lying still on various parts of the stone walkway.

Not a single Knight or friend of hers lay among them.

“What was that?” She demanded.

That seemed to bring Seteth back to himself. “That was the wrath of the keeper of the lake,” He said with tangible relief. “Come, let us go meet him.” He urged his wyvern down and offered the two girls his hand. They exchanged a confused look but accepted.

* * *

The wyvern didn't fly very high or very fast with the extra load...but no archers or mages stepped out of the fog to bedevil them. Instead they gently coasted towards the sound of Claude's voice; everyone else was gathered at the foot of a large staircase leading up to what she assumed to be an alter or place of worship given how ornate the handrails were.

“Teach!” Claude smiled in relief for a moment when she slid off Seteth's wyvern and joined him. Then he shook his head, “What kept you?”

“There was this woman...” Byleth wasn't sure how to explain. Where could she start? “We ran into a very dangerous opponent armed with a weapon I hadn't seen before. We had some trouble.”

“You had trouble?” Lysithea parroted, alarmed.

Byleth opened her mouth to respond, but didn't get the chance when another voice called out to her -

“Is that...? My child, is that you out there?”

Rhea's voice hit her mind like a gong; spinning around, Byleth looked up the stairwell to see a familiar figure kneeling at the top step, looking down at her. She barely heard the various startled and happy shouting from the people around her and bolted up the stairs, taking them to at a time until she reached the top, crashed to her knees and found herself face to face with Rhea.

It was her...she looked terrible...her hair was a mess, tangled and burnt edges hanging loosely around her face. There were burn scars on her arms that were new, she was thin and shaking a bit when she stared back at Byleth, tears forming in her soft light green eyes. “Thank goodness you're safe,” Rhea sobbed, grasping Byleth's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She hugged back without reservation. “Thank goodness...I'd hoped to see you this whole time...”

“So this is her, huh? The girl you told me so much about?”

Byleth blinked at the new voice, looking upward from Rhea's shoulders – and her brain just stopped.

The man was tall, a bit taller than Seteth; he was dressed in a long coat over a villager's clothes, hands in his pockets, a hunting bow slung over his shoulder. Beneath that hood was a tumbling wave of smooth light green hair, framing a face warm with humor despite it's tired lines and bright green eyes that examined her with curiosity and a hint of wariness. Even though she'd never met him, she was _swamped _with a powerful wave of warm familiarity.

She knew that face. She'd seen it in her dreams.

_Saint...Saint Indech...? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger's are fun, aren't they? (ducks and avoids a barrage of spells, hand axes and spears) 
> 
> I wrote for six hours today and my back is telling me I need to get a more comfortable writing chair. Hehe; I'm creeping closer and closer to the real fun reveals. Plus we get to see Fraldarius fight for the first time! No, she wasn't giving it her all; she was told to 'prioritize capturing Rhea' but couldn't get around Indech. Ah, I am looking forward to Blayddid's first appearance now; that was fun! 
> 
> Updated my genealogy crossover yesterday; again, if you guys would give that a read too I think you'd enjoy it. (hopes and prays that the next Fire Emblem game is a proper remake of the amazing fourth game.)


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri provides a distraction for Yuri and starts to earn a reputation.

Dimitri tried not to look impatient as he looked down the winding road that Yuri had taken into the city where Petra was stationed. He faintly remembered Rodrigue telling him when he was young that war was largely boredom, confusion and uncertainty between battles; he hadn't really noticed that until now. _Probably because Claude isn't here to distract me. _

The plan was in motion; Rodrigue, Judith and Shamir were all leading detachments of the army to local villages and outposts, seizing extra supplies and drawing as much attention to themselves as possible. Claude believed that Edelgard wouldn't expect them to split up their offensive army deep within her territory; Dimitri wanted to be confident, but he worried that someone who could secretly ascend her throne and prepare an invasion army without anyone knowing would expect unconventional tactics.

His other reason was a slightly more selfish one – he was holding sole command of this operation. Yuri was effectively serving as his second-in-command, yes, and he'd been a wonderful help hammering out the details of the attack and rescue, but Dimitri had never been solely responsible for an army's next move.

_You were raised for this, _His father chided. _You will succeed. You must. _

_I know, _Dimitri acknowledged.

All his fellow leaders were confident in his ability to succeed. He would just have to trust them.

“I hate waiting around like this,” Felix muttered. He was leaning against a tree, tapping the hilt of his sword and occasionally glancing down the path. “The longer we stand around on Empire roads, the more chance we stand of being seen. What's keeping Yuri?”

“He needs to not be seen while slipping Petra the message, then he needs to make sure she's read it and is ready to be extracted,” Ingrid pointed out. She was sitting on a log, cleaning Luin; the relic weapon glowed in the early morning light, pulsing like a heartbeat. Strangely Dimitri found himself thinking of Hilda's complaints after being given Freikugel. _I mean, look at it. It pulses like it has a heartbeat. So gross. _

“I know that,” Felix grumbled. “What if one of them was caught? We wouldn't know until the city's army was right on top of us.”

“Yuri won't be caught easily, and he'll help Dorothea stay out of sight.” Mercedes said confidently. “His street gang are used to blending in and getting into places they shouldn't unseen, and they know the Empire inside out – they do live here, after all. Try not to worry, Felix.”

His old friend rebelliously muttered “not worried,” causing Glenn to roll his eyes in amusement. Sylvain chuckled and then called out to Bernadetta, who was brushing her horse's mane. She jumped a bit, but finished her task and trotted over. Felix's eyes narrowed into slits and he glared at the redhead's back as Bernadetta sat down next to him.

“Have you done any other work on your short story?” Sylvain asked lightly. “I know we're not exactly in a great environment for writing, but that cliffhanger is cruel and unusual and I need to know how the heroine gets out of it.”

“O-Oh,” Bernadetta ducked her head. “I-I've written a little bit, but I haven't really had the time to get very far. Between the long marches and the chores, there isn't a lot of extra time for it.”

“Tell you what,” Sylvain said airily, “I'll take over weapon maintenance and taking care of Nico every now and then so you can slip off and write a bit more.”

“R-Really?!” Bernadetta brightened. “T-That's really nice of you...”

“Eh, I'll admit it's partially selfish; I really really need to see a happy ending after all the terrible things fate throws Jenna's way.”

Felix watched the byplay with a mix of frustration and jealously, getting off the tree and hesitating a bit though he was clearly hoping to drag Sylvain off. Glenn leaned over and muttered something in his ear, causing the tips of Felix's ears to go red as he shook his head vehemently. _I wonder if he realizes Sylvain is doing this on purpose, _Dimitri thought with bemusement.

“Bernadetta writes?” Dedue asked, sounding slightly surprised.

“Yes, she does,” Mercedes responded with a smile. “She's very shy about it, though, so she's been hiding it. Sylvain found out when she forgot her binder in the dining hall once; it took them a couple of conversations before she figured out he was really impressed by it, the poor thing.”

Dimitri smiled faintly at that, glad that Sylvain had forgone his usual antics to encourage Bernadetta's other hobby.

The banter was interrupted by a sharp whistle from down the road; Dimitri started and then turned around, relieved. Yuri was making his way down the road, Dorothea and a number of his rogues at his heels. The young king let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding when they drew closer and he couldn't see any injuries on anyone.

“The stage is set, Your Majesty,” Yuri said.

A ripple of cheers and gleeful laughter echoed from his friends and the army proper; they all surged up around the small group, offering drinks and hearty backslaps at the successful mission. “You managed to speak to Petra?” Dimitri asked, seeking clarification.

“Yes!” Dorothea said breathlessly; her eyes shone with happiness, lighting up her whole being. Dimitri heard Sylvain's breath hitch behind him and smiled at the sight of the songstress shaking her intense melancholy, if only for a moment. “She wants to leave the army and protect Brigid, she even promised to fight alongside us if we rescue her and her battalion!”

“A-ah, truly?” Dimitri would not have blamed her if Petra had simply wanted to secure her home's independence and then leave the war completely; being offered such a pledge was humbling, to say the least. “How many men are with her?”

“Thirty in total, all as eager to make like birds as their princess.” Yuri reported. “It'll be a bit dicey to get that many people through the various backstreets and sewer exists I know about, but it's doable. I have an escape root plotted out – that's why it took a bit more time than I initially anticipated.”

“Good,” Dimitri said decisively. “Who's in charge of the army contingent in this city?”

“Lord Herving, of all people.” Yuri snorted. “Can't tell you why; the man's allegedly a priest, not a warrior. The most aggressive thing he's ever done was participate in the Insurrection, when he had all the power in the equation...” The violet-eyed teen gave his head a slight shake. “Far more likely that he's just a figurehead holding the local commanders together. A low priority should be made for capturing him; if we can manage that, we can pressure his lands into letting us pass through them without a fight.”

Dimitri glanced at Felix, Glenn and Bernadetta. “I think we can manage that,” He said easily. Glenn just grinned.

“Alright,” Yuri said, rolling his shoulder back. “Let us begin, then.”

_Don't let anyone see your fear, _Lambert warned him as the young king blew out a long breath and prepared to address the army. _Not your enemies, and certainly not your people. _

Dimitri nodded in understanding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Felix nudge Glenn sharply and jerk his head in his direction. Puzzled, he glanced their way; _something _flickered across Glenn's face which softened into gentle concern moments later. Dimitri gave him a small smile in response in hopes of reassuring him before turning around fully and projecting his voice so his command would carry across the camp.

Moments later, his army contingent (_his stomach fluttered at the thought_) was in a flurry of activity, dousing fires and collapsing tents as they prepared for the short march to the designated mustering point a half-mile from the city. Dimitri wove his way through the chaos, helping wherever he could; he moved stones, shifted wagon wheels out of ditches they were stuck in, and talked with nervous soldiers until they found their courage. Anxiety buzzed at the back of his mind as he worked; he had lead without Byleth and Claude before, but never in something like this.

But he would take this city, rescue Petra and capture Lord Herving. For the sake of his country and peace in Fodlan.

“Did you see any Agarthans in the city, Yuri?” Atra's soft voice was hard for him to ignore, even with the whirlwind of conversations around him. Almost despite himself, he looked to his right to see Atra packing her maintenance tools while speaking with Yuri.

She still looked rattled from being sent through the makeshift Warp Station that Lysithea had created before the armies separated. Apparently back when she'd been an Agarthan levy, she'd been expected to largely act as a nurse and messenger, so she knew how the magic worked, but she'd never set one up before so apparently the transition was a little uncomfortable. She'd quickly confirmed that Rhea had been located and inquired after the state of the plan; since she'd managed to get there just before it started, she'd be able to inform Byleth of the proceedings immediately afterwards. 

...Byleth was placing a lot of trust in her...

“A few mages, a warrior here, a swordmaster there...they might be hiding out, but I suspect they don't consider control of this particular city to be of great importance. It's not anywhere special in and of itself...though it is on its way to everywhere special,” Yuri responded. “So, can I expect you to help me with the princess?”

“I...would like to be in the King's front guard, if he would permit it,” Atra said after a moment of hesitation. Yuri looked a little startled for a moment, before understanding settled over his face. Dimitri wasn't sure he shared it; the admission made his stomach flip over. “His safety is very important throughout this. We're still yet to meet up with Byleth.”

“I agree,” Yuri acknowledged before letting out a dramatic sigh. “But oh, to know you prefer to stay at his side; I'm hurt, I tell you, the wound's mortal.”

“H-Huh?” A red flush spread through Atra's cheeks. “Y-You know I don't mean it like that! Yuri! D-Don't joke about those sorts of things! Besides, he is-”

“Ah ah, not out here,” Yuri said, putting a finger on her lips. She let out a small squeaking sound in response, flustered. “Some things are better announced by the source, yes?” Atra ran a hand through her hair, momentarily looking sheepish as she nodded. “But really, don't forget to take care of yourself while you're out on the field. You know the next arrow might not hit your shoulder...and get hit in that place one too many times, you'll be restricted to using just one sword like the rest of us plebeians.”

Dimitri glanced away, a familiar knot of emotions forming in his gut.

_She protects you to ease the pain of her conscience, _his father said coldly. _Let her stew, or better yet, accidents happen on the battlefield all the time. She looks like the rest of her people from a distance does she not?_

He let out a faint gasp and shook his head violently. _No. I can't – I __**won't **__murder her after what she's done to make our war against Agartha possible. That she's weighed down with remorse is - is not nothing. Perhaps it is enough to know that she still suffers guilt over what she did. _

_Not for me! _His father raged. _Do you pity her more than you love me, my son?_

“_**I am not commanding you too. ...That is my duty, not yours**_.**”**

Sothis's voice flickered across Dimitri's memory as he struggled to come up with a response to that; the words – ones he'd almost missed in his grief and forgotten about until that moment. Something loosened in his chest that he hadn't even noticed before, and he expelled a long breath.

“I love you more than I could ever say, father,” He whispered. “But what I admired most about you how you set everything aside to protect your people, even your own pains. To be as good a king to our people as you were...I must do the same.”

The specter of his father stared wide-eyed at him; Dimitri then swept his hand to the right, watching it pass through the middle of the mirage, dispersing it. Then he left the clearing to take point at the head of his forces which were forming ranks along the road.

* * *

The city was bigger than Fort Merceus, but far less defensible – which made sense, because it wasn't a military installation or even close to one. Likely the designers had concluded that if an army penetrated this deeply into Adrestia, the citizens were better off fleeing to Enbarr than trying to set up complex fortifications on a purely civilian city. It was fairly ordinary in most respects, and therefore Constance would have to be a little careful while slinging Bolting around lest they accidentally start a raging wildfire.

Dimitri watched Yuri, Bernadetta, Flayn, Annette, Dorothea and a number of Yuri's rogue disappear into the city. The crunch of gravel alerted him that Felix had joined him at the top of the hill, his eyes following Bernadetta until she moved beyond his sight. His heart jumped a little bit; he wasn't sure if Glenn had prodded his brother to approach him, but...

“Even the greatest thieves can steal nothing with silence, my friend.” He said lightly.

“I_ know_,” Felix grumbled, clenching and unclenching his hands. “Don't make fun of me.”

“I swear that's not my intention. ...Bernadetta _trusts_ you, Felix. I don't think any admission from your heart will send her fleeing to the hills.”

Felix fidgeted and looked away, his face shadowed by his bangs. “What do I know about love? She's too important for me to screw things up,” He muttered. “Like I did before. Like I've always done.”

“...Felix?”

His friend twitched. “Never mind,” He snapped, grabbing the hilt of his sword and staring straight ahead. “Shouldn't we be starting to run our distraction attack now?”

“We have,” Dimitri assured him, gesturing to the city walls. The city watch, a mixture of normal guards and imperial soldiers, were rushing in different directions and shouting at someone. “We're not exactly inconspicuous out here.” He glanced over his shoulder at the standard bearer carrying his kingdom's flag, standing at the front of the various battalions that were putting their faith in him as their field commander.

Constance rode forward, the sunlight glinting off the silver pegasus knight armor she had been given at the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Ingrid joined her moments later; she was now dressed as a Falcon Knight, having been judged worthy of the mantle. A new spear was strapped to her back, replacing the javelin that she'd lost in their last conflict, while Luin pulsed eerily as she raised it.

“Shouldn't we just charge in through the front gates?” Sylvain questioned, bringing his horse up next to Felix. “The more noise we make, the more cover Yuri and the others have, right?”

“I'm not moving our army into the open streets and squares until I've determined if there are siege mages in the city.” Dimitri responded calmly, nodding at Constance. The sunlight had drained all the bombastic energy out of her, but her confidence remained. “Vestra serves as the Emperor's second hand, and they've been famed for the siege mages their schools have produced since the battle against Nemesis.”

“Are you sure they'll lead with it?” Dedue asked.

“Yes.” The young king nodded confidently. “They have no significant defenses and a lord with no military experience leading the troops that _were_ sent here. If you would begin, Constance?”

“As you command,” the blonde responded, before clicking her tongue to send her pegasus shooting into the air. Dimitri slid Areadbhar off his shoulder – he didn't think he would truly needed it, but its intimidation factor was perfect for this mission. Moments later, the light golden glow of the Noa Crest flickered in the sky above his head right before Bolting crashed down on the wall of the city, blowing the gates apart.

Sure enough, moments later a retaliatory Meteor spell rained down from the sky. Constance easily dodged the attack as more red flares appeared in the sky above the army proper.

“_Forward_! Keep your eye on the sky! Mages, be prepared to intercept!” Dimitri shouted, thankful for Dorothea's stage trick. A roar of bloodthirsty excitement rang through the ranks in response, and with a wild grin Dimitri surged down the hill toward the smoking ruin that had been the city's entrance as Constance flew overhead, aiming to counter-snipe her enemy competitors.

Claude had drilled into him before they left not to underestimate sniper support within the city, especially since there would be innumerable places for them to take point while being mostly hidden from sight. Yuri, after infiltrating the city the first time, had given a report on where the snipers had been stationed; they were Constance's secondary concern at the moment, as well as Ingrid's.

As for their own snipers?

When the first few arrows whipped past Dimitri's head, the archers and bow knights behind his front lines unleashed a storm of retaliatory fire into the massive opening. Several dozen men at the gates dropped, including most of the archers; that was all he needed for an opening.

Dimitri paused for a split second and then jumped, pushing his crest's strength boost through his legs. This allowed him to land right in front of the sniper who was trying to take another shot; he backhanded the bow out of his hand and then slammed the butt end of Areadbhar's grip into his face, causing him to crumble like a puppet with cut strings. Seeing the swordsman out of the corner of his eye, he dropped to one knee so the blade wound swing harmlessly over his head and then swung Areadbhar out to the side; the blare tore through the man's leg at the knee. Noting a war master running to the gates right ahead, Dimitri lunged forward and swung Areadbhar in an upward arc; the man broke his charge and stumbled back to avoid being split in half. Twisting the relic lance in his hand, Dimitri reared back and slammed the flat of Areadbhar's blade into the man's chest – while relinquishing the control he usually kept over his strength. The war master flew away like a pebble kicked down the road; he impacted into a far wall and didn't get up.

Dimitri heard the men coming up behind him and spun around, blocking a sword on his lance. The swordmaster didn't get a chance to try his luck, however – almost the instant Dimitri's eyes focused on him, he was stabbed through the back by Felix, who yanked his sword out to cut down a warrior who was charging at Dimitri.

Glenn appeared a second later as another crash of Bolting shook the ground; he dodged a near point-blank arrow being shot at him by a Sniper, darted forward and sliced through his bow and a light cut across the man's chest. Dedue fell upon a mage with a flurry of punches; behind him, Annette threw fireballs at a pair of armored knights while the army of Faerghus poured into the streets and spread out to different roads. Mercedes cast Physic at someone, then promptly cast Ragnarok at a Great Knight who'd been riding down an injured northern Hero.

“Press forward! Do not damage the city unnecessarily, and do not harm any unarmed civilians!” Dimitri ordered, casually swinging Areadbhar in a wide arc; the mages who had been approaching him – whichever ones weren't instantly cut down by Felix and Atra – were flung backwards with bloody gashes torn across their chest. “Move to seize every corner! Do not let any of the army commanders escape; they've fled from battle enough times already!”

Laughter was mixed into the cheers at that, and many of his men jeered at the Imperial soldiers who were scrambling to reorganize.

“Your Majesty,” Ingrid called, swooping down on her pegasus. Dimitri opened his mouth to warn her about a sniper that was taking aim at her from beneath, but it proved unnecessary; she casually swung Luin down at him so meet him. The ruthless lance blade sliced through the man's shoulder, taking his bow with it to the ground.

“What is it?” He answered, sidestepping to avoid another War Master. Atra was on the man in an instant, her burning blade simultaneously carving into his flesh and cauterizing the resulting wound. Her silver blade blocked his attempted retaliation – an admirable effort, considering how much pain he must be in – as she reared back and kicked the new boiling scar she'd given him. He dropped, gurgling in pain.

“I saw Lord Herving. He's in the northwest corner of the city, built up a makeshift barracade around himself and his honor guard. All mages, only two swordmasters.”

“Any sign of the Brigid soldiers?” Dimitri asked; nearby, Glenn cussed inventively after catching a fireball to the shoulder. He was promptly healed by Mercedes and charged the mage responsible, slicing through the fireball with the Sword of Moralta, dispersing it. A few steps later he slammed the hilt of the sacred blade into the mage's face – breaking her nose and dropping her. Felix was at his back, Death T splashing harmlessly against the Aegis Shield; he strode forward, the next few spells doing no more good than the first, and bashed the man into the dirt with the Relic alone.

“Not near him. The extraction must be going smoothly,” Ingrid smiled slightly. “There are a number of groups of Imperials running around in a panic; I think they must have witnessed the 'kidnapping'.”

“Good!” Dimitri responded, a great wave of relief washing over him. “Let us spread more confusion! Lead the way, my friend.”

Ingrid nodded sharply, wheeled around, and took off to the northwest. Dimitri gestured sharply to the men around him and ran across the ground after her. Sylvain appeared at his side, Lance of Ruin flashing in the sunlight; a couple knights simply dropped their weapons and knelt in surrender the moment they saw the relic weapon. Atra cast a blade of flame off to the side, where it struck the ground and roared upward, cutting off the vision of the a couple of archers. A number of Faerghus soldiers rushed to deal with them.

“These people are more disorganized than the Black Eagles at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion,” Felix scoffed, right before unleashing Astra on a Knight.

“They're demoralized, that's what happening,” Glenn corrected, ducking under a Warrior's ax and slicing his arm open. Annette blasted the man with a fireball, setting his leathers on fire and forcing him to drop and roll. “They haven't won a significant victory, only a few scattered small ones.” He frowned when saying that, though. “Even the destruction of Arianrhod hasn't allowed them to take much land at home. Lord Gautier and the others are keeping Bergliz at bay.”

Dimitri grimaced, narrowly dodging a blast of Banshee that came out of a nearby alley. Sylvain pivoted in his saddle and threw a javelin at the mage in response. A scream echoed from the response. “My father will hold the line, Dimitri. Don't worry.”

Dimitri grabbed a discarded short spear off the ground and threw it upward. The sniper standing on the roof above him, taking aim at Ingrid, got pierced through the shoulder and toppled to his doom. Then he turned on his heel and kept following her pegasus through the city streets. “I don't doubt his capabilities, nor the determination of my people; I only worry about what else Agartha might reveal from its cellar of horrors now,” He fretted.

“What else could they possibly throw at us that could top the javelins of light?” Sylvain asked faintly incredulously.

“Don't tempt fate, gods damn it.” Felix complained, offhandedly bashing a warrior's face with the Aegis Shield.

Bolting crashed down from the sky somewhere close to them; Dimitri tasted ozone and blinked white spots out of his eyes before continuing to follow Ingrid. The Faerghus troops were everywhere within the city walls now; and though they were meeting stiff resistance, the medic battalions were working miracles. What dead they would have to mourn were few, and while his heart hurt to call any loss minor, he knew that he could not waste their deaths.

It was a bit concerning that he couldn't see with his eyes if Petra's extraction was successful; Yuri and his people specifically planned to escape during the confusion. Dimitri just hoped that the lack of braying over 'filthy street rats daring to challenge Adrestia' was a good sign.

He honestly felt a little like a bully, even when using the flat of Areadbhar's blade against the city troops. Most of them screamed in terror – their resistance crumbling – at the mere sight of him, and he could shatter their weapons or toss them bodily aside with his bare hands. Using a relic against foot soldiers was terribly superfluous. Claude had insisted on him making use of its intimidation factor, commenting that most would rather surrender than face one. Which had proven correct, but still...

* * *

Finally Dimitri rounded the corner to the area Ingrid had indicated. His childhood friend dodged a number of arrows coming out from behind what looked like a lot of household furniture, loose stone, and bits of steel roughly cobbled together in a makeshift damn; she expertly made her way to the ground and came to a stop at his side. Felix and Glenn appeared on his left, the Aegis Shield glowing like a torch even in the morning light. Sylvain pulled up beside them, while Dedue stood directly behind his king, warily examining the area for snipers or other hidden dangers. Annette and Mercedes appeared after him, panting from exertion; he really ought to find them horses, or pair them up with a rider who could move them around the battlefield faster. Behind them, the soldiers of Faerghus and the Alliance soldiers who had joined the mission who'd rushed to keep him in view formed ranks behind them.

Dimitri let out a small breath and cleared his throat. “Who goes there?!” Demanded a shaky, older voice from behind the barricade.

“The King of Faerghus, who you would depose,” He responded, loudly but dryly. Several of his men laughed, and Glenn smirked. “This war is devoid of both justice and honesty. I have no come here to commit a massacre! No civilian will be harmed; lay down your arms and your men will be spared.”

There was an uneasy silence for a moment, then a shuffling of feet before an aristocratic man in fine priest robes, his dark green hair streaked with gray noting his age, peering across the hall at him.

“King of Faerghus? You mean the mad boy descended from the great usurper,” The man scoffed. “So the archbishop's pet sends a puppet to come and fight us?”

Dimitri scowled, heat bubbling up in his stomach. _They'll treat you with disdain, _Claude warned him before they separated, running his fingers through his hair. _You'll be dealing with men who think your kingdom illegitimate and will play the victim. When they try this, make it clear that anything they hurl at you would be better suited aimed at themselves. __**Make**__ them respect you and your power. Don't give them an inch...or as my father would say? _Those emerald eyes glittered with dark amusement and fierce pride. _**Don't take any shit from them. **_

“I think a man who serves mad alchemists, who regularly convert his own people into demonic beasts, should speak a bit more carefully about puppets and usurpers,” He said scornfully. “Especially one who wrested power from his Emperor to suit his own needs.”

Mocking laughter and jeers echoed from the men behind him.

“You dare criticism how we rule our realm?”

“If you rule involves the wholesale slaughter of the very people who keep your land, who am I to point out your shortcomings?” Dimitri deadpanned. Some of the men on the the barricade swore and spat at him, but he could see unease in the other's eyes...and in the civilians, who were looking out through their windows with fear and uncertainty. He tapped Ingrid's leg lightly and unobtrusively, then meaningfully tilted his head upwards; she snorted to indicate she understood. They would avoid causing any damage to the building or those within. “This posturing of yours is pointless. You have lost. Surrender and prevent any more needless loss of life.”

“I will never hand my people over to a brutal lunatic who crushes innocent men's skulls beneath his fingers!” Lord Herving retorted. “I am no fool; what proper noble would put any stock in the words of a mere boy rendered mad by tragedy? I am a leader of the Empire!”

“No, you're just a tyrant who gives murderers and twisted men free reign over not just your enemies, but those under your protection as well,” Dimitri said scathingly. The man opened his mouth, fury in his features, and he felt his temper spike. “Do not bother trying to deny it! I've been in enough clashes with the Agarthans to recognize them. I've seen the bodies of the Demonic Beasts sent to assassinate me transform back into the mangled forms of humans, freed of the curse only in death! Unless this is your way of emptying your overflowing jails, did these victims materialize out of the ether?! Do you deny the evil that was inflicted on them?!”

“Lies! Inventions of the church to hide their negligence and control over all parts of Fodlan!”

Felix scoffed. “Listen to that, Dimitri. Arguing with him is pointless; he's the delusional one. Everyone at Garreg Mach saw the Agarthans among the army sent to conquer the monastery.”

“Wait,” A voice came from one of the windows before Dimitri could respond; slightly surprised, he looked up to see a young girl leaning out her window, her hair blowing in the breeze. Her mother attempted to haul her back, but she fought her way free and clung to the windowsill. “Is it true?”

“Sweetheart, no, it's not safe,” her mother said frantically. She looked in terror at the archers

“You! What do you think you're doing, peasant?! Get back in your house!” Lord Herving shouted.

“I want to know!” The girl shouted back, despite quailing in justifiable terror under her lord's fury. She looked desperately down at Dimitri. “For months before the Emperor declared war, our lord was sending letters to every city in his dominion, asking for volunteers who might help him cure the Emperor of his wasting sickness. He offered a great sum of compensation and the tests were supposed to be as safe as possible; he said that they would only be exposed to mild magics to see if the human body would reject it. We thought it our duty, so all three of my brothers went to the capital...that was six months ago! We never heard from them again after that, and the money never came!”

“The war took precedence!” Herving bellowed back. “All the funds were needed to support the army! It will be given out in the aftermath!”

“Where are my brothers?!” The girl demanded, her voice cracking. “Tell me! You dethroned the Emperor once and tried to steal his daughter...why would you help him now?! What did you really need them for?!”

“Well?” Dimitri interjected, his voice turning cold. Sylvain had quietly cursed behind him, likely coming to the same conclusion he was. “I think that's a fair question, Lord Herving. If you have nothing to hide, why can't you answer her?”

“A peasant doesn't make demands of her lord!” Herving shouted back. Ingrid tensed and twisted the blade of Luin so it was catching the sunlight. “Archers, Mages!” He pointed at the window. “Fi-”

Dimitri's stomach lurched.

Then Bolting fell from the sky and hit the barricade right in front of Herving and his men. While they weren't hit directly by the blast itself, electricity seized their bodies and the impact threw them in all directions like debris in a storm. Unfortunately, one mage had gotten off a Banshee; his arm was thrown off, thankfully, but the blast still hit the building right below the window the girl was leaning on. She must have frozen in fear, because she didn't pull back in time; her mother screamed when she fell from the upper floor as the brick and stone beneath her gave way.

Dimitri moved, dropping Areadbhar (_causing both Dedue and Felix to swear quite inventively as they scrambled to keep up_) and crossing the distance in a few seconds – just soon enough to catch the young girl out of the air. He staggered as her weight, amplified multiple times by the speed of her fall, but managed to keep his balance; quickly he knelt and covered her from retaliation. Multiple screams and raging, furious curses echoed from the multiple other windows down the alleyway; the girl and her mother weren't the only person watching this unfold.

At least two arrows bounced harmlessly off his armor; shadows passed over him as Dedue took point protecting him and Felix took a spell on the Aegis Shield. Glenn had gone on a furious tear in Old Fodlanese (_amnesia hadn't taken away his linguistic capabilities, it seemed_) as he climbed the still-smoking ruins and stabbed one of the archers through the shoulder as he recovered and _still _continued to carry out his order.

“Are you alright?” Dimitri asked gently, retreating a bit to get a good look at the girl. She was probably ten or eleven, at least; she looked at him with wide eyes filled with terror and wonder in equal measure. He examined her quickly before breathing out in relief; it didn't look like she'd been burned by the spell or cut on broken window when she fell. “I'm so sorry about that. I shouldn't have given him the chance to target you.”

Carefully slipping one arm under her legs, Dimiri picked her up, cradling her against his chest so she was mostly protected by his armor. Above them, her mother dared to peek out and saw her daughter alive; she was so relieved she passed out. Dimitri made a mental note to go and check on her as soon as Herving and the street were secure. _To think this man is Linhardt's father, _he thought in contempt.

Constance swooped down, her crest blazing with light as she snapped her fingers; a freezing wind blew through the alley and Fimblvetr struck home. When the ice shattered, the alley was quiet except for groaning and the vindictive cheering of his men.

“Is she okay? Are you okay,” Mercedes gasped, appearing from the smoke to examine the young girl. “Thank goodness you could reach her...I'm so sorry. We should have been more careful.” She reached out and brushed a strand of the girl's brown hair out of her face. “Are you hurting anywhere?” Dimitri looked around to see if he was needed anywhere, but Glenn had slung a very still Herving over one shoulder, still furious-looking, while Felix, Sylvain, Annette and a number of other knights rounded up whomever Constance hadn't killed with her last spell.

After a second, the girl shook her head quickly and pressed deeper into Dimitri's shoulder – seemingly not quite ready to trust the world outside his arms. “Thank goodness,” Mercedes said with a breath of relief. Cheers came from above them; the young king glanced up to see other villagers leaning out of their windows and expressing their gladness that a girl they probably all knew well was safe. “I'm so sorry; we should have tried harder to bring him out somewhere you couldn't get hurt.”

“Ingrid, go out to the square, tell whatever men are still struggling against us that their lord has been captured.” Dimitri instructed. Her friend nodded and took off again. “Glenn, is Lord Herving still alive?”

“For now,” His older friend responded darkly. His blue eyes, usually so warm and welcoming, were sheets of ice.

Dimitri smiled coldly. “Good. Take him to the prison wagon...though keep it away from Emile's when we move back to camp; I wouldn't want to subject him to this man's mad ramblings.” Laughter burst out from several men's throats, because they knew their king hadn't forgiven all of Emile's crimes, so to put Herving elsewhere for the young man's peace of mind said more than words could about what he – and they – thought of this man. “Secure the city. Constance!, please go and seek out Yuri, if he's not already on his way. I'll be with you momentarily.”

He looked down at the girl in his arms. “Do you think you can walk?” He asked gently. She blinked a few times at him, then turned light red and shook her head shyly. “I see. Please, show me to your door; let's go and reassure your mother.”

As she tentatively began to speak, a cheer began to build up from the windows in the alley. First, it was one or two men close by, but as he moved to follow her directions, it began to rapidly gain traction.

“Blaiddyd! _Blaiddyd! __**Blaiddyd! BLAIDDYD!**_”

* * *

It took him roughly twenty minutes to get inside, find the girl's mother, wake her and have Mercedes give both a clean bill of heath. _(Thankfully, both had minor cuts and a bad shock as the only result of their attempted murders.)_ A neighbor and his wife opened their house to the pair until the second floor could be repaired; the woman wept and wouldn't stop thanking him despite his assurances that she owed him nothing.

Once he returned outside, the girl trailing adoringly after him, he saw Yuri off at the square with another familiar figure beside him.

“Dimitri,” Petra greeted when he reached her. He was distressed to note that she was noticeably thinner than when he'd last saw her at the Officer's Academy. Her hair was covered in soot, and she had some recent scars on her hand, but her expression was bright and cheerful when he approached. “I am having much gratitude for your help,” She bowed. “Trouble was very close to me always, here. My friends and I were wanting to go home from the beginning, but chances were not existent.”

“I'm glad to see you're mostly unharmed, Princess,” Dimitri responded warmly. “You've been in a terrible position for the last few months. That you've retained your cheer and spirit is most impressive. How fare your men?”

“Safety was gotten for all of us,” Petra said, a little awe in her voice. “Yuri was grabbing the victory every waystep. I am having much admiration!” She glanced at the violet-eyed teen and tilted her head. “Were you being a hunter prior to this?”

“I...suppose, in a sense, I was,” Yuri said, something pained flickering across his face. Dimitri had never asked about his past, but he did know from what little he heard that the 'Savage Mockingbird' had many regrets.

...Rather like Atra...

He found himself looking around, seeking the Renegade Agarthan. He found her sitting on a pile of rubble, getting an arrow cut out of her while a healer scolded her profusely.

“Where's Bernadetta?” Felix asked brusquely, interupting his thoughts.

Yuri's lip twitched upward into an amused smile. “She's alright, just a little shaken. A mage managed to knock her off her horse when he was at a full gallop; I fixed her up-” Felix didn't give him a chance to finish; he was off like a shot past Yuri's left shoulder. “-and Dorothea is sitting with her,” the violet-eyed teen finished dryly. “He does realize he isn't fooling anyone, right?”

Petra giggled. “I am having much surprise; were the blue lions not already knowing this?”

“No, we noticed,” Dimitri responded in amusement. “What's happening now is that Felix is too prideful to ask for help, but too frightened to make the first move. At this rate, I'm afraid Bernadetta might need to pluck up the courage to confess first.”

That made all three of them chuckle.

“Petra...” Dimitri spoke once that quieted, taking on a serious expression again. “Claude and Byleth should be rejoining us very soon. I promise that the army of the two kingdoms will see you and your people safely returned to your home in Brigid. We demand no arms or forces in return; it's enough to know one of our friends is safe from this terrible war.”

Petra stared for a second, then closed her eyes to gather her emotions. “You shall be a good king, Dimitri,” She articulated solemnly. “Undoubtedly.”

Annette ran over, cheering when she saw Petra standing safe and skidded to a halt in front of her. His friend started babbling excitedly at her, asking her a flood of questions; Dimitri turned around to face his new admirer, who was fidgiting and clearly hoping to ask him a question. “Is something the matter?” He asked gently.

The girl bit her lip and timidly said, “King Blayddid...people in the squares keep whispering that men in black hoods come and take away street rats, flower girls and paper boys, never to be seen again. Is that true?”

“...I'm afraid it is,” Dimitri said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I don't know for certain what became of your brothers after they went to assist their Emperor, but if you haven't heard from them since, they may well have run afoul with these men.”

The girl shivered, then scurried forward and hugged him. “Then they're gone?” She whimpered.

“If they're still alive in Enbarr, my people will look for them should it come to that,” Dimitri promised. He chided himself for making such a reckless offer, but the tearful smile he got in return shuttered the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Left side of my brain: Are you sure *Linhardt's* dad is this much of a jerk?  
Right side of my brain: He participated in the deaths of all of Edelgard's siblings. He's definitely a jerk.  
Left side of my brain: Ah. (finishes chapter)
> 
> Have I ever said that I hate how Edelgard blows off Dimitri's questions and beliefs in the CF route by calling him the "king of delusion?" In the route where he's stable and devoted to his kingdom, which she is violently invading with the support of the Agarthas who killed his father and friends? ...Because I *really* hate it. 
> 
> The lords are calling him a 'mad boy' because Edelgard described his breakdown in the tomb in most condescending terms; not to mention such terminology degrades him and his cause. Unfortunately, Dimitri's building up a counter-narrative, and he isn't even doing it on purpose - he's just being himself. (grins)


End file.
